


The Blood of Love

by MuggleMirror



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, As for Louis — you'll see, Blowjobs, Body Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, Extended Metaphors, Grab some tissues because I cried while writing a few bits, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nurse Harry Styles, Painter Zayn Malik, Pining, Rimming, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24525301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror/pseuds/MuggleMirror
Summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 142
Collections: One Direction Big Bang Round 3





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is mostly self-indulgent hehe. Hope you enjoy reading it :)
> 
> A huge thank you to the sweetest beta, [Marianne](https://theleavesoflorien.tumblr.com) for keeping up with my awful schedule and updates. You've been a huge help throughout this journey! Art by the lovely [Apolline](https://cupcakentea.tumblr.com). She also made this amazing [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3eEq6kF12X1dd4De3MbVJN?si=2KlecMxtTWyN_7SOyFIQEQ%22) for the fic, go give it a listen.
> 
> You can reblog the fic post [here](https://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/post/620179271131004928/the-blood-of-love-harry-is-a-nurse-and-louis-is) :)
> 
> You can also subscribe [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror) to be notified of my future fics :)
> 
> Additional warnings:  
> \- suicide attempt  
> \- grief  
> \- death  
> \- mentions of dark elements

_“The blood of love welled up in my heart with a slow pain.” — **Sylvia Plath.**_

The road leading up to the town of Thorne Hills was steep and muddy. The recent downpour had caused the uneven road to become slippery. The wipers in front of Harry erased what was left of the rain before the tiny droplets decorated the glass again. Static from the radio filled the stuffy air. With one hand resting on the wheel, Harry banged the beat-up radio system with his other hand in hopes that a smack would be enough to revive it. Static echoed back. 

As if things weren't bad enough already, Harry's car shook, growling a little and eventually coming to a halt, gravel crunching beneath.

“Shit!” Harry muttered, twisting the key to restart the car. Upon trying, the car rumbled like a grumpy cat before shutting down completely.

“Not now, Elsie!” Harry whined as he opened the door. It wasn't raining as heavily now, just enough to make patches of water appear on Harry's shirt. Harry made quick work of lifting the bonnet. 

A thick grey sky hovered above Harry, making it hard for him to see. Harry wiped down his wet fingers on his pants before switching on the torch on his phone. It didn't take long for him to understand that the battery must’ve died out.

Frustrated, Harry slammed the bonnet down. His aggravation skyrocketed when the sky split open — water started pouring down heavier and faster — drenching Harry. He looked around and found nothing but majestic trees moving along with the wind. Knowing very well that those trees were the closest thing to a shelter he would find in the middle of nowhere, Harry ran to them, leaving Elsie stranded on the road.

He removed the wet beanie sticking to his head and ran a hand through his damp hair to fluff it out. His first instinct was to check his phone for signal in hopes that with the help of maps he could hike to the manor once the rain has stopped. If the rain didn't stop, Harry would be stuck here for God knows how long, stranded in the woods with no one to accompany him but Elsie.

The rain stopped as abruptly as it had started, turning into a mellow drizzle. Beanie in one hand and the other holding his phone high, Harry moved about to check for any sign of technology. He wandered aimlessly for a few minutes until he found an old church in the clearing behind the woods. 

Harry felt uneasy as he walked towards the church. The place of worship was abandoned of any religion, the cross on it had been battered by the wind. The place was devoid of any life — dried grass grew in its vicinity. 

Harry pushed the door open. It creaked loudly, ringing in his ears. Harry shook his head and walked inside.

“Hello?” his voice echoed through the church.

Light still glowed in the desolate church under the grim darkness of rain. Harry walked closer to the pulpit, light gleaming inside through the tinted glass. Smoke evaporated into thin air from the candles that had just died out.

“Is anyone here?” Harry called. He held his breath, eyes darting around, hoping someone would appear and jump-scare him.

When no one came, Harry walked around to explore. The rain was still pattering outside, the sound of water echoed off the glass windows. The church walls were barren of any colour, faded over time. Broken chandeliers hung from the domed roof. The place was so hauntingly beautiful that it had Harry wishing he could go back in time and visit this place when it had been in its best condition.

Harry walked outside and rounded to the back of the church. Beheaded statues of goblins and gargoyles covered the grounds of the church. Their stoned eyes unsettled Harry. He walked past them, making sure not to touch them. Sure, he was being paranoid, but Harry had learned long ago that nothing good came out of statues.

Harry could see Elsie from there, hidden behind the lush green of trees that stretched above him. The rain was almost gone now and Harry had started feeling thirsty. His stomach grumbled with hunger, flipping inwards for food.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair that was still damp from the rain. He walked back to the road, the trees lining it like an armour of protection. Upon reaching the trees, Harry heard a low moan. He looked around in search of the source. Under the dramatic trees lay a lithe body whining in pain. Unsure of what it was, Harry walked towards it tentatively, crouching at the roots.

The poor thing was soaked, curled up in the soil that had birthed the tree it took shelter under. Harry approached the it carefully and realised it was a cat. He removed his gloves as he crouched and reached out to smooth a hand on its back, before he let himself feel the pain.

Flashes of tyres speeding down the road clouded his sight. Temporary agony rushed through his veins and tears welled up in Harry's eyes. 

_She._ “Oh, darling!” 

Harry took his beanie and twisted it to drain it of water as much as he could. He then cleaned away any twigs and leaves that had ended up on her body, and wrapped her tiny body in his beanie. It was the best he could do to provide her the much-needed warmth until he could find a way to get to the manor. Her heavy breathing only fueled Harry to find a way out quickly. It baffled Harry to know the cruelty humans possessed when they claimed to be peace-loving creatures. 

Harry walked towards his car, cat cradled to his chest, and rummaged around his bag until he found something comfortable and dry for her to be in. He’d just finished covering her in one of his hand towels, beanie discarded aside, when his phone chimed.

Harry closed the car door; he would come get Elsie later. For now, the Thorne Hills manor awaited his arrival.

_

The first glimpse of the Thorne Hills Manor was a revelation on its own. Dramatic hills peaked from behind where the manor stood. Tucked away in the heart of the Yorkshire moors, Thorne Hills Manor claimed its authority under the grim sky. 

Nothing about the house calmed Harry, the first glance of it sending a shiver of chaos and cold down his spine. Having been left to fend for himself for as long as Harry could remember, he knew to always trust his gut. When something deep settled in his gut, blaring like an alarm and warning him against it, Harry always trusted it and turned away. More times than not, he'd found himself in despicable situations he'd rather never relive again.

Unfortunately for him, the Thorne Hills manor was his only destination. He could not turn away from this house, not with a helpless being in his arms. Nothing about the job had concerned him, but now every bone in his body begged Harry to turn away.

Harry pushed open the wrought iron gate with his elbows, careful not to touch it with the hand that was still bare. He did not want to know what secrets lived in the rusted metal. Harry shivered — whether it was from the cold or from the melancholy that surrounded him; Harry didn't know — and walked down the gravel laden path that led to the manor. Haunted statues followed his every step, and Harry rushed forward.

Harry's eyes couldn't help but land on the mansion in front of him, the manor demanding his attention. The aura that surrounded the manor filled him with a sense of foreboding. His heart thudded, eyes following every shadow lingering beneath the flamboyant structure; it almost seemed unreal. The gloomy sky above only amplified the fearful apprehension blooming within him.

Harry felt the hypnotic pull of the mansion as he stood under its shadow. Bracing himself, he breathed deeply before knocking on the old wooden door. Harry took a step back while he waited, eyes following the ivy that reached up to the clock tower erected in the center of the building. The hands of the clock were rusted, time seemingly put to stop indefinitely. When the door finally opened, Harry felt helpless, every instinct taken over by the urge to turn around. He let himself peek from around the person standing in front of him.

"Sir?" The woman who had opened the door stood before him expectantly.

Realization hit Harry, of how he would seem to a stranger's eye. Wet from head to toe, a small animal in his arms with no luggage to define him. That was not the appearance of a man hired to take care of a bed-ridden patient. Well.

Harry shuffled on his feet. How would he explain his situation to the woman? Her clothing was plain, surely she was not the mistress of this house. Perhaps someone who worked here.

Harry's eyes widened.

_Yes! The letter!_

With his free hand, Harry retrieved his letter of employment from his pocket and handed it over to the woman. "Harry Styles.”

She hesitated before taking the cheap paper from his hand.

“Bridget?” a man called from behind the woman. She turned quickly, handing him the letter and walking away.

“Are you the nurse?” the man asked. His eyes bore into Harry, assessing his condition.

“Yes,” Harry replied curtly. He would rather skip the niceties and introductions and reserve them for later.

“You're a man.”

Harry had to bite his tongue so as to not say something along the lines of _I’m well aware._

“Very well. Do come in.” The man walked further inside without sparing another glance to Harry.

As they walked inside through the foyer and into the hall, Harry realized the manor’s contrasting image. From afar, the manor was eerie and alluring. On the inside, Harry felt as if he had entered a different dimension. The Gothic architecture of the house was beautiful, each detail intricately designed to perfection. The outer appearance of the manor was but a facade; Thorne Hills Manor was alive, each trail of light that slipped past the tinted windows a ghostly presence. Nevertheless, the feeling of malice that hung in the air was still present.

“Victor is asleep at the moment, so you’ll have your introductions in due time.” The man stopped at the foot of the staircase. “I’m Zayn,” he introduced himself, hand sticking out for Harry to take.

Zayn tracked the movement of Harry's hands, raising an eyebrow at the gloves.

“Germaphobe,” Harry explained.

“Funny,” Zayn snorted.

Had it been anywhere near the truth, Harry would have been offended. He supposed it was funny, ironic, that someone whose profession was to look after the diseased, the sick and crippled, had a repulsive obsession towards cleanliness.

“Pardon me,” Harry interjected. He removed the towel covering the cat to expose her.

“Oh!”

“Can I just take care of her first? She was hit by a car.”

Harry was moving already and placed her on the nearby diwan. Having left all his equipment in his car, Harry looked to Zayn with a silent plea for help. The man in question took off immediately and returned in no time with a first aid box. 

Harry got down to business. He assessed the cat’s condition, looking for any wounds that might be hidden beneath her coat. She was unconscious now, her breathing calm as a result.

Harry found that, apart from a little scrape on one of her hind legs and some frayed nails, there weren't any major injuries, still dried blood clung to her dark fur. He cleaned the dirt and blood away with the help of a washcloth and some warm water that Zayn had brought while he was assessing the wounds. Using the contents of the first aid box, Harry dressed the injury 

He stepped back, sighing with relief.

“She’ll be okay,” Zayn said, hand coming to rest on Harry's shoulder. Harry froze.

“She will,” Harry chuckled wetly, the thought draining all anxiety out of him.

Zayn left again, in order to bring some drinks for them. “You must be parched,” he said. “Red or white?”

Harry gulped before answering, “Water, please.”

Harry took the opportunity to explore. He walked through the drawing room and into the study. Nothing out of ordinary, except - the house felt alive. Something malignant was suspended in the air that irked Harry. Trying his best to ignore his gut, Harry looked around at the various books lined up neatly in their cases.

While the Thorne Hills manor lived up to its name from the outside, on the inside it was in pristine condition. Everything was where it should be, perfect in every sense. Except it was not. Something was wrong here, the pungent smell of evil was thick in the air. Only a fool would deny its presence.

On the wall opposite to the bookshelf, various portraits were hung. A mark of various legacies left hanging on a wall. Harry's eyes skimmed over each, as if trying to find the evil. He laughed to himself, he shouldn't read Dorian Gray quite so often.

One particular portrait, however, caught his attention. The subject of the portrait was perhaps the most exquisite being Harry's eyes had ever had the honor of laying upon. Soft brown hair fell over his forehead, eyes as black as the dark sky on a new moon looked down on Harry. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat as his fell upon the man's cheekbones and lips that bloomed sweeter than the most beautiful of roses. 

“Quite beautiful, don't you think?” Zayn offered the glass of water to Harry, breaking his reverie. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen people call upon us only to admire him.”

“How long?” Harry barely made out, his voice a whisper.

“Considering I’m 26, my whole life. Almost.”

Harry hummed in acknowledgement and resumed looking at the man in the portrait, this time focusing on his posture, clothes, the way he carried himself. Harry was torn between finding the man enigmatic and heedful.

“Who is he, then? This man in the painting," Harry only hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he was.

A soft meow echoed from the entrance hall.

“It's a conversation for another day. Your little patient is waiting for you.”

-

In the dead of night, the walls of Thorne Hills manor spoke louder than ever. Harry lay wide awake in his bed, watching the moonlight filtering in through the tinted windows. Ghost winds ran wild outside, leaving the trees trembling in their wake. Everything here felt eerie and cold. An endless winter. 

Sleep was a faraway prospect now. Harry shoved the covers off of him, deciding a cup of coffee would be the perfect companion for his midnight rendezvous. He made his way to the kitchen and brewed a cup of instant coffee. Harry passed the living room on his way back upstairs. 

“One time,” Harry murmured to himself and backtracked from the living room and to the gallery, coffee still in his hand. 

The painting was still hung on the wall. The ordinary frame basked under Harry's attention, pulling him near it.

Harry moved towards it, studying the face of the man. It held the same elegance and mischief that it had when Harry had first seen the portrait. His eyes shone with mirth, a silent whisper of a secret in itself that begged Harry to come closer and cave in.

Harry dared to touch the portrait, caressing it with the leather that covered his hand. His hands itched to feel the colours that made the man in the painting alive, to feel the trail of dried paint. Perhaps a touch of bare skin wouldn't be so bad.

Harry withdrew his hand in favour of removing his gloves, pulling them with his teeth and chucking them aside. He touched the frame of the portrait first. The frame itself was nothing too grand, a handwork of old wood with dust settled in between. Harry's fingers danced along the edges, collecting the dust as he waited for _something_ to hit him. He closed his eyes, welcoming the pitch blackness, and willed himself to see something. He huffed in annoyance when nothing happened and decided to go for the portrait instead. 

Harry stepped forward, enough that he could see the faint ridges left on the portrait that made the man. Harry's fingers skimmed over his arms before Harry's palm finally rested over the man’s chest.

_Lub-dub lub-dub._

Harry snatched his hand away and stumbled back.“What the hell?” 

“Shit!” he cursed as the warm coffee spilled over his hand and onto the floor. With a huff, Harry set the mug down and fetched a cloth from the kitchen to clean it up.

“Fuck!” Harry exclaimed, mind still reeling from what he had just heard. 

“What’s going on?”

Harry turned around. Zayn was rubbing at his eyes, his hair askew.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Harry asked guiltily. 

“Ha! I like to think this village is small but this house, it's quite big. You could be screaming in your room and I’d barely hear anything.”

Zayn frowned and continued, “It's the middle of the night, Harry. What are you doing drinking coffee? I’d like you to be in good shape for your day with Victor. I don't want you being irresponsible. It's your first day tomorrow.” 

“Not at all!” Harry rushed forward. “I didn't want to go to bed without finishing my book,” Harry lied, lifting his cup to stress his point.

Zayn made a non-committal sound. “Goodnight then,” he said.

“Goodnight,” Harry said and made his way to the staircase. Each step that he took echoed the sound of a beating heart. 

-

Dead tree branches danced along with the wind-chimes as the cool winter air blew. The overcast sky left no way for the glimmer of sun-rays to pass through. Though it was cloudy, the weather seemed pleasant enough to have breakfast outside. Victor was sat next to Harry. His pale blue eyes glimmered with happiness as the pair finished their breakfast under the gazebo. Seeing Victor happy made Harry happy. He understood how lonely one could get in a house as big as the manor.

“Cersei. Hmm that’s a good one,” Victor said.

“Really?” Harry beamed.

The pair had been discussing potential names for the cat Harry had rescued.

It had been almost a week since Harry had arrived at Thorne Hills. Getting acquainted with the grounds and the town, and taking care of Victor had taken up most of his days. Cersei, like Harry, had been welcomed into the family, like she had always belonged there. 

Harry had formed a friendship with Victor. His tutors had always told him not to make acquaintances in his field of work. They had always warned him off getting attached to his patients. Yet here he was, basking in the bloom of his friendship with his new patient. 

“Yes, I like it. It's very... magical.”

Abruptly, winds howled as thunder echoed from the heavens above that made chills run down Harry's spine. 

“Let’s go inside,” Harry said as he finished his tea.

“Why?” Victor asked. 

“It's cold. I don’t want to risk you falling sick.” It was a simple reply, a convincing one. The weather was cold, unnaturally cold even for the dead of winter.

Victor’s smile fell, thin lips resting in a firm line. Harry grabbed a napkin to dust off the crumbs that had fallen onto Victor’s lap.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Harry helped Victor up.

Fine sand crunched as they walked up to the manor. Wind ruffled their hair as thunder rumbled again, this time louder and aggressive.

_Don't look back._

Harry held onto Victor’s hand, his grip firm. The itch to look back was strong, but Harry didn't dare. The hair on his neck stood stiff, only settling down once inside the manor. His heart, though — it beat as erratically as ever. _Wicked,_ thought Harry.

Both men passed the study where they met Bridget. Harry stopped her. “Are you going outside?” he asked.

Bridget’s cheeks flushed as she replied, “Yes.”

“Careful then. The weather today seems wicked.”

Bridget smiled wider. “Okay,” she nodded and left. 

Harry turned to Victor who had already been watching him. Victor narrowed his eyes, an impish smile making its way on his lips.

“What?” Harry chuckled. He pulled at his necklace nervously, a habit he had developed over time. Harry was not sure how he had come into the necklace’s possession. Upon asking Agatha, his matron, she had said they had found him with it – the chain had been wrapped in his tiny fist.

“Nothing.” Victor shook his head, smiling as he walked forward.

“Not nothing! Something!” Harry caught up to Victor. “Why were you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” Victor feigned innocence.

“Like you knew a secret.”

“Oh, I do!” Victor sat down in one of the armchairs when they reached the living room, while Harry kindled a fire in the fireplace.

“It's warm enough now, why don't you take those gloves off?” Victor suggested a few minutes later.

“It's a fashion statement, Vic!” Harry joked. He sat down on the chair opposite to Victor, the gallery in plain view from there. Harry's eyes made their way to the portrait. It seemed normal and Harry would’ve believed it was had he not _heard_ it.

“What are you thinking about?”

Harry's eyes snapped back to Victor. “No one!”

“I asked ‘what’, not ‘who’.” Victor wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh my!” Harry buried his face in his hands, laughing. “Is that the ‘secret’ you were talking about?” he chuckled.

“Well… the poor girl was blushing so hard.”

“Victor, no!” Harry laughed again.

“What? Bridget isn’t pretty enough for you?”

Harry's laughter faded. “It's not that.”

“Don’t you like her? Warm brown eyes, fiery red hair. She blossoms like a rose!” 

“She does,” Harry agreed. There was no denying that Bridget was beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful people Harry had met. Maybe in a different situation he would’ve courted her, wined and dined her properly had she been a man instead.

“Got yourself a lovely lady back home, then?”

“Something like that.” Harry's eyes flickered back to the portrait in the gallery.

The next few moments passed in silence. Harry stood and walked over to the windows. The mood in the study was warm, while the weather outside had turned crisp under the influence of winter. Thunder no longer echoed, but the sky was still grey — a sorrow in its own. Outside, Bridget was hanging clothes to dry. Harry wondered how long it'd take for them to dry in this brutal cold.

“Who is it in that painting?” Harry blurted.

“Huh? Which painting?”

Harry walked over to Victor, kneeling down next to him. “That one over there,” he pointed towards the gallery.

Victor followed Harry's gaze and narrowed his eyes. “He’s my ancestor.”

“What’s his name?” Harry whispered.

Victor turned to Harry, a devious smile on his face. “Make me a pudding and I’ll tell you.”

“No!” Harry laughed incredulously, well aware that Victor had diabetes. It was a trick that only a fool would fall for. 

Victor shrugged.

“Fine!” Harry said, desperation getting the better of him. “I’ll make you a pudding and you tell me everything I want to know. Deal?”

“Deal!” Victor exclaimed, his excitement akin to that of a child who had just slid down a slide. 

-

“So? Do you like it?” Harry asked, rubbing his hands excitedly.

Victor licked his lips clean and gulped down the rest of the pudding. “It's…” he started, then stopped to take another spoonful of the pudding instead.

Harry waited patiently, eyes searching Victor’s face for a hint.

“It's not sweet.” Victor made a face.

“Yes…” Harry bit his lip, a feeble attempt to stop the smile on his lips.

“What do you mean ‘yes’? We had a deal, Harry! Pudding in exchange for some information.”

“Well, you have your pudding, don't you?” Harry countered.

“You're cheating,” Victor accused. “This,” he pointed at the pudding, “is cheating!”

“C’mon Victor! I wasn't going to serve you something sweet knowing you have diabetes. It's my job to take care of you after all.” Harry leaned forward, resting his face on his forearms on the edge of the bed. “It's fine if you don't want to say anything. I’ll just look in the library here or ask Zayn.”

“Don't!” Victor exclaimed.

“Why not?” Harry leaned back, confused at Victor’s reaction.

Victor chuckled nervously. “I’ll tell you and save you hours of searching. What do you want to know?”

Harry frowned at Victor’s response but continued regardless. “That man in the painting. Who is he?”

“Louis Tomlinson.”

“How did he die?”

“I don't know. Nobody knows what happened to him,” Victor said solemnly, eyes wandering to Harry's hands.

Harry tensed, pulling at his necklace with his hand.

“He disappeared into thin air.” Victor concluded gravely. “It's quite fascinating, a small village with a mystery. Don't you think?” Victor laughed.

Cersei trotted into the room, her tail swishing as she did. She hopped onto the bed, plopping down near Victor. The latter reached out to pet her.

Harry nodded indifferently. “I should be going. Have to buy her food.” Harry moved around the room, checking if all medical the necessities were readily available. It was a good thing Victor wasn't grievously ill — he had yet to fetch his equipment from his car.

“Oh, I should've asked before making any plans,” Harry said looking down.

“You should go! Can’t have our little guest without food.” Victor smiled fondly at Cersei who was now licking her tail.

“I won't be long!”

“Take the bike. You don't have your car, not that it'll take you places. The bike's out back, probably. Ask Zayn if you can’t find it.”

“Okay. Thank you! And get some rest while I’m gone. Please,” Harry picked up Cersei and walked to the door.

“Harry!” Victor interrupted, “It's not safe to be out at dark. Be careful,” he said, looking out the windows. 

_ 

Tyres rolled softly over the road as Harry pedalled his way to the nearest and only cafe in town. His little guest had accompanied him on the shopping trip, and was now perched in the basket in front of him. The weather was as gloomy as ever, the clouds heavy over them. Yet, he had started feeling parched from the slight exercise of biking from the supermarket and decided to make a brief stop on his way back.

For a town with only one cafe, the place was barren of any being. Dim neon lights glowed in the gloom of the clouded sky and trees rustled in the wake of the cool wind. Harry glanced at Cersei, then looked around before picking her up. He dropped the bike aside, letting it crash against the ground, and walked to the door. 

Cersei jumped in his arms, her ears flying back when the door jingled to announce their arrival. “It's okay,” Harry said, smoothing a hand down her back.

Just like outside, the place was deserted on the inside as well. A bleak song that Harry couldn't recognize was fading into the background. He sighed; the town seemed more isolated than he had originally thought.

Finding the counter empty, Harry rang the bell and soon enough a man came into his view, pushing open the door behind the counter. The man eyed Harry, speculation written all over his face. His face then broke into a large smile, cheeks ruddy.

"You're new," the man said, shoving a menu Harry's way.

"Small town, everyone knows everyone?" Harry joked.

The man laughed loudly. Harry wondered what it'd take for him to be that happy. 

The man showed them to a table. “What should I get you and your little friend here?” 

Harry looked at Cersei who was eager to be let out from Harry's arms. Harry put her down on the table, expecting her to explore. Instead she tucked her paws under her body and plopped down on the cool table, watching Harry intently.

“Quite fond of her, eh?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled bashfully.

Harry then explained that he was on his way back from the supermarket and is now on his way home. Since it was getting late, he'd have anything that would be the quickest.

The man slipped through back the door and came back a few minutes later with a plate in each hand. 

“Thank you! This smells amazing,” Harry said as soon as he was handed his plate. The other plate consisted in some boiled chicken for Cersei that Harry pushed towards her.

Harry eagerly took a bite of his burger. “Mhmm, this is good!”

The man smiled at the compliment. “Tell me lad, where are you staying?”

“Thorne Hills Manor! It's quite… captivating, don't you think?”

The feeling that had been gnawing at Harry's heart ever since he’d arrived here only worsened at the man’s expression. His chubby face was devoid of the rich colour from before.

"It is," he said glumly. He then continued to ask, "Are you a guest there? They don't receive many guests."

“I've been employed to take care of Mr. Tomlinson.”

“Ah yes, Victor! Served him a lot of burgers with my pa. Back when he came around a lot.”

“You know him well then?” Harry took another bite of his burger.

“You could say that.”

“Do you know Louis Tomlinson?” Harry blurted.

The man paled, eyes widening at the question. “Not enough.”

“What do you mean?”

The man’s eyes flickered to the window and back. Harry turned, following his gaze. Outside, it was still deserted. The lack of sunlight had caused darkness to engulf everything in fog.

“You should be going.”

_It's not safe to be out at dark._

“We should. It's getting dark,” Harry hurried out, his eyes narrowed at the man’s comment. Nevertheless, he fished out his wallet and paid for the food.

“You really won't tell me? Anything?” Harry asked as a last attempt on his way to the door.

“Why do you want to know? The man has been dead for years!”

Harry's heart sank. He stood and picked up Cersei.

“He’s in the archives, if you really want to know,” the man finally spoke just as Harry was about to leave. “Just a few miles before crossing the Tainted River, there’s a library where you can find him. It's a white building with a banner that reads ‘Library’. You won't miss it.”

“Thank you!” Harry smiled and closed the door shut.

Outside, the fog seemed to be growing thicker by the minute. Harry picked up the bike and mounted it, Cersei taking her place in the basket. He glanced at the windows. Dim neon lights and a pair of eyes looked back at him.

_It's not safe to be out at dark._

Harry pedalled and picked up speed. The hair on his neck stood as anxiety and the fear of the unknown surrounded him. _Don't look back,_ he reminded himself for the second time today. He pedalled faster, ignoring the trees that blurred into a mass of blackness.

-

Rich hues of tangerine and purple were blended across the sky as the sun sank slowly below the horizon. It was breathtakingly beautiful, a pleasant view after the harsh cold day.

A short ride after leaving the dine, the bicycle got a puncture, leaving Harry to navigate by foot through the settling fog. Along the way, Cersei dozed off in the basket as Harry walked down the old roads beneath the sky that was gradually losing daylight. Obsolete structures passed him — buildings built of stones and bricks and timeless beauty — and Harry was easily taken back in time. He gorged on the newfound euphoria, letting it take him back to a place whose story remains untold.

A short walk later, he was stood in front of the gates that opened up to his new home. Harry hesitated, retracting his hand a few times before finally giving in. With a hint of terror, Harry un-gloved his hand, letting this part of him become familiar with the secrets this place might have; and soon enough, his fingers touched the iron bars of the barrier, the coolness of it sending spikes of shivers down his spine.

_Nothing._

Harry sighed and decided to touch the handle this time. 

_Hands gripped him tighter as Harry held the other body closer. Lost in the heat of lips, each touch was feverous and full of passion against Harry’s skin. Panting, he pulled away. Cerulean blue eyes, kiss-bitten lips came into his view._

Harry snatched his hand away and let out a strangled noise. “Louis,” he breathed, stunned at what he had just seen. _Felt._

Harry pushed the gate open and walked inside quickly, heart thudding in his chest and shocks of pleasure lingering beneath his skin. Upon reaching the door, Harry left the bike against one of the statues and picked up the food bag and Cersei from the basket. Upon entering the manor, Cersei jumped from his arms, trotting away to her water dish.

“You're back,” Zayn announced from where he was sitting on the sofa.

“Sorry, it's late. We stopped for lunch and then one of the tyres got punctured,” Harry rushed out.

“I’m glad you found the way alright. It's not safe to be out at dark,” Zayn smiled as he walked over to Harry.

There they were again. The same words, over and over again, pricking at Harry’s skin.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Zayn’s smile faltered.

“Should I be aware of something?” Harry pressed.

Zayn chuckled nervously. “No,” he laughed again. “The fog settles in and then it's quite hard to see or even go anywhere. Many accidents have happened that way.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time. Thanks.”

“No problem, man. Can’t lose my best nurse.” Zayne moved to shake Harry's hand.

“No!” Harry said but it was too late. He froze as Zayn’s hand held his own.

“Oh! Sorry,” Zyan backed away. “I didn't realise you’d taken off your gloves.”

“It's fine,” Harry shook his head as he looked down. “Here,” he handed the bag containing Cersei's food. “Can you feed her? I need to check on Victor and -”

“Yeah, of course.”

Harry hurried to the stairs, not looking back at the sound of Zayn talking to Cersei, too busy trying to clear his mind of what had just happened.

_

Victor was one of those people who could sleep anywhere and anytime. Disciplined in such a way that he adhered to a strict schedule, as a result of which, he had already had his dinner by the time Harry came back from the village. All that was left to do was for Harry to help him bathe and make sure that Victor took his pills before he went to bed. It was an easy task. Victor was far better a patient than Harry had ever looked after.

Harry watched Victor’s breathing turn even as he slipped into the unknown realm of sleep, smile lines relaxing to form a peaceful look on his face. Sleep had never been peaceful to Harry. Sleep, for him, meant welcoming the demons that lurked behind the veil of his consciousness, to embrace the unfamiliarity hiding in the shadows of sleep. He had spent years holding on to the hope that perhaps there was someone out there like him. Someone who could understand why Harry screamed and cried. It was nothing but a shred of hope in vain. 

Harry exhaled and shook his head. It never did him any good to be in his head for too long. He walked out of Victor’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar. There was still time for dinner, so Harry decided to take a quick shower before taking his meal. The long walk had been quite a bit of exercise. Harry stripped while he waited for the water to warm up, his mind fogging up with the day's events just as the room did too.

When Zayn had shaken his hand, Harry had seen things. Pleasant memories. Memories of a child who had spent a lot of time with his loved ones. Perhaps, that was why Harry couldn't focus on them and cast his mind back to what had happened earlier at the gates. 

Now under the dull spray of water, Harry reminisced about the feeling of being held with love, being kissed with such passion that it invoked ripples of pleasure over his skin. Harry closed his eyes and willed himself to forget the feeling of Louis’ lips on his. The harsh reality was that it wasn't him. He’d only seen and felt the memories of someone else, memories that had latched onto this place. Louis was long dead.

Mist followed Harry and disappeared into the air as he left the bathroom. Unaware of Cersei who had sat near the bathroom door, Harry almost stepped on her tail, causing her to screech and in turn making Harry tumble forward, the towel around his waist coming undone.

As luck would have it, Zayn appeared in the doorway.

“Oh my God!” Zayn spluttered while Harry struggled to gather the towel around himself.

“Zayn!” Harry breathed once the towel was back in its place. 

Zayn stood in the doorway with his lip caught between his teeth as he fought not to burst into laughter. “Dinner?”

Harry flushed, feeling himself turn red under the attention. “Yeah, I’ll just…” Harry pointed at the towel.

Zayn simply nodded and walked away. As Harry turned to get dressed, he heard the muffled sound of Zayn's laughter.

A few minutes later, Harry walked down to the sight of Zayn setting the tables for the both of them.

The dining room was as grand as the manor itself. Thorne Hills had become more of a house to live in than a definition of luxury and decadence. For Harry at least. A marble table large enough to host a party of ten was placed in the centre of the room. It was perhaps the ugliest table Harry had ever set his eyes on. Above it, a massive chandelier with tinkly crystals was hung from a carved ceiling. It bewildered Harry, the whole grandeur of it. The inside of Thorne Hills in such a lavish state while the outside was left to rot in the cold winter winds.

“Anything I can help with?” Harry asked upon reaching the table. 

“Red or white?” Zayn held up two bottles of wine.

“None for me, thanks.”

“Sober?” Zayn asked further.

Harry thought back to the time he had tried weed for the first time. He wouldn't call it peer pressure— rather a case of curiosity. Seeing his bunk-mates take long drags of the cannabis had him craving a taste of the giddy smiles plastered on their faces. Of course the ramifications of his decision had left him untethered from reality, sensitive to his surroundings in a way that had had him weeping for the dead. 

“Yeah.” 

Zayn didn't push further, respecting the way Harry's tone made it clear he didn't want to talk about it. Instead, he went about opening the bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass. In a slick moment, the bottle slipped out of Zayn’s hand. Before it could break apart on the floor, Harry caught it.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Zayn rushed out meekly. 

However, the deed was done. The maroon liquid had spilled, tainting Harry's shirt and camouflaging with the carpet below.

“Oh God!” Zayn took the bottle from Harry. He placed the half-empty bottle on the table and immediately reached for a cloth to fuss with. “Give me your gloves,” Zayn demanded as he tried to dab the liquid from the carpet.

“What? Why?” Harry took a step back.

Zayn looked up, confused. “Because they're ruined? I’ll wash them for you.”

“Right, of course.” Begrudgingly, Harry removed his gloves, eyeing the leather resist the liquid trying to sneak in, and handed it over. “Thanks,” he said.

“I’ll have to do it later, the food’s getting cold.” Zayn shook his head as he stood. He reached over to take the gloves from Harry, hands brushing accidentally.

“Are you okay?” Zayn asked upon seeing how rigid Harry had gone.

“Yeah,” Harry cleared his throat. “Just not used to being without gloves.”

Zayn nodded, his face morphing between guilty and empathetic. “I’ll be back,” he said, waving the gloves for effect and leaving through the gallery.

Unlike the rest of the manor that boasted crimson, the dining room was a royal green. The walls were a brilliant shade of green that matched the emerald silk damask of the upholstery. A pair of gilded candelabras glimmered on either side of a carved mantelpiece, above which hung a large painting. Sure the walls of the room were full of old portraits of people lost in time, this one caught Harry’s attention. The woman in this portrait held a striking similarity. To whom, Harry didn't know.

“Maybe…” Harry mumbled and moved closer to the fireplace.

The warmth from the crackling fire painted Harry in a golden hue. A sense of comfort filled him. It had been so long since Harry had felt at home that the gentle flicker of heat filled his eyes with tears of homesickness. He wiped away the tears with the palm of his hand before they could spill. He sniffled loudly, hand reaching towards the familiar face. Harry wondered if this painting was similar to the one of Louis. Not that he was even close to determining what Louis’ painting really was, but there was no denying the unmistakable sound of a heart beating he had heard.

 _Another reckless decision_ , Harry thought to himself. Before his skin could feel the painted canvas, Zayn called from behind him. “Do you like it?” he asked. His hands were empty now, no sign of Harry’s protection against the world. “I do. I think she looks quite beautiful.” Zayn stood next to Harry.

Harry withdrew his hand and observed the face above him. Hair as dark as the night sky, eyes a soft shade of brown, with rosy lips curving up in a subtle smile. She was indeed. It was the same face Harry had seen when Zayn’s hand had accidentally brushed his. She was smiling down at Zayn the way a mother smiles at her son. 

“Who is she?” Harry asked.

“My mother, Constance.” Zayn replied.

“She’s a beauty.”

“She is, isn't she?” Zayn turned to Harry. “Pains me to see her the way she is now. So unaware-” Zayn stopped abruptly and bit his lip as if he had said more than he had intended to.

“Let’s have dinner, shall we?” Zayn smiled. Harry didn't pry further.

"Where's Bridget?" harry asked as he took his seat.

"Bridget prefers to have her food alone. Something about peace."

Harry sat observing the three headed statue that was placed at the centre of the table, while Zayn insisted on serving him.

“I didn't know if you ate meat, so I cooked vegetarian instead,” Zayn said as he plated the lasagna.

“Thank you!” Harry said, eyes still focused on the sculpture. Hecate, he recognized. _Odd_ , he thought.

“I do like to indulge in meat every now and then. It's seafood I stay away from,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the marble figure.

“Why so? I’m very partial to shrimps and oysters,” Zayn said.

“This is good!” Harry said after a mouthful of the pasta. Zayn smiled, cheeks pink. “I’m not sure really, the water has always made me anxious,” Harry said a while later.

“You know, there’s a river that flows nearby. Tainted River, we call it.” Zayn smirked.

“Really?” Harry scoffed at the name. He hadn't paid it much attention when the man at the diner informed him about it. Now it sounded ridiculous, a bit too much.

Zayn hummed as he sipped his wine. “Not in an attempt to sound eerily pretentious. It's just that the water is literally tainted.”

Harry cocked his head. “What?”

“It's red, almost maroon. If the water was any thicker, you'd think it was blood flowing down those rocks.”

Harry looked at Zayn in disbelief. "Why, though?"

"Nobody knows." Zayn shrugged and took another bite off his plate. "It originates high up the hills. Landslides are a common occurrence in that part of the town. There’s no telling what's up there. It would be foolish to risk losing one's life only to know why the water here is red. That's why this place is called Thorne Hills, and why this manor is named after the town."

"Because the hills are prickly?" Harry attempted humour. The dinner conversation was far gloomy for his liking.

"Because," Zayn put his fork down, "those hills are protecting something the way thorns protect a rose. If you want to know what's up there, you'll have to be pricked by one."

Harry picked up his glass of water and gulped it down. He finished his dinner quickly after that conversation. He politely declined dessert — feigning exhaustion and feeling heartened by the promise of having the leftovers for breakfast tomorrow, and rushed to his room.

Harry took one glance at Constance’s painting before he went upstairs. Her hair shone as it reflected the light from the burning candles. Her lips formed in that perfect smile, looking down at him as though she was privy to all the secrets of the world. Privy to _his_ secrets.

-

Moonlight illuminated the room through the windows while restless winds flew wild outside. The night was still young, but Harry was already in bed. He lay wide awake, tossing and turning as he tried to fall asleep. All in vain.

Harry threw caution to the winds and decided to go down. He walked down the grand stairs and to the gallery, each step he took making him acutely aware of his lack of gloves. Harry felt naked. He scratched the skin of his palms, pulled the invisible fabric at his wrists. His hands shivered, scared to know the outcome of what he was about to do. Harry looked longingly at Louis, his eyes focusing on Louis’ that were his siren’s call. It was temptation that Harry couldn't resist. His heart throbbed in his chest so much that Harry worried it might be in his mouth.

This time, Harry wasted no time glossing over the frame. He closed his eyes and placed his hand on Louis’ chest.

_Lub-dub lub-dub._

Unlike last time, Harry didn't snatch his hand away. Instead, he stood there, feeling the pulse under his palm.

“You're back!” a voice echoed in his mind.

Every fiber in Harry’s body was alert, every bone begging him to turn around and run to the safe haven of his room. Away from _this_ – and yet here he was. Hand splayed over a painting with a voice ringing in his mind that hit too close to home.

“Lou-Louis?” Harry asked hesitantly, unsure.

“Oh you did your homework then,” the voice said, almost teasing.

With Louis’ voice ringing in his ears, it was quite easy to forget the pounding of his heart. Confusion and apprehension clouded his mind as it scrambled to make sense of this phenomenon that he was experiencing. His powers, more often than not, had rendered him helpless and muddled in the past, forcing him to question his very existence. This rarity of Louis, though, didn't seem polluted with his powers, a spectacle of its own. 

Mind still trapped in the paradox that surrounded him, Harry opened his mouth in hopes that perhaps acknowledging the situation out loud would help him make sense of it.

“Cat got your tongue?” Louis’ voice, as impish as ever, whispered.

Harry pulled his hand back at that, palm stinging where it had touched the painting. Touched _Louis_. It was only a matter of seconds before everything turned from a state of perplexity to chaos. A thumping sound from the living room followed by a low groan claimed Harry's attention, distracting him from Louis. Blind panic had Harry running to the source of the sound, anxiety and fear now overtaking his senses.

It was a short distance from the gallery to the living room. However, Harry struggled to breathe at the sight he was presented with. Down by the staircase lay an unconscious Victor, his limbs twisted in a painful way.

“Victor!” Harry screamed, scrambling to Victor’s unmoving body.

It was a mistake, Harry realized, but it was too late for him to withdraw his hand, images already flooding his mind. 

Memories were tricky and sly, Harry thought. Some were embedded in minds and hearts as a pleasant echo to look upon and reminisce about the moments when one had felt happy, while some were caged inside one’s body and soul and their only purpose was to fuel that sickening feeling of being in so much pain that one was rendered helpless, ready to do anything not to relive them over and over again.

They were simple and pleasant, Victor’s memories. A reflection of moments he’d had with Zayn and Harry in the recent days, and with Cersei too. A warm surge of affection made its way into Harry's heart, making space for itself amidst the fear bubbling in his chest.

“Harry! What is happening here?” Zayn's voice boomed.

Without looking up Harry said, “Call an ambulance.”

-

“What happened?” Zayn demanded from next to Harry. 

Harry looked down at his feet, leg shaking anxiously.

“Would you stop it!” 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. A beat later, he said, “I don't know. I found him that way.”

Harry closed his eyes and the image of a limp Victor lying unconscious on the cold hard floor was back. The doctor had said that Victor had taken quite a fall, and that he was lucky not to have more injuries. Still, a few bruises on his back and a fractured leg was a lot for a diabetic patient. It would take him twice the time to overcome his injuries. Harry couldn't fathom the pain Victor must be in. 

Harry remembered having a fall like that himself. He’d been quite young then, rushing up the stairs to show Helen the worn-out copy of Frankenstein he had managed to get his hands on. The pair had been intrigued by the poster of a Frankenstein play the local theater was hosting. They had begged Agatha to take them there, had been on their best behavior in hopes that she would give in and take them. Harry had slipped, hand reaching out to hold on to something to prevent the fall, but the faded white walls had done nothing to save him. He’d fallen onto his back and lain there. Helen had found him with an open wound on the back of his head. He didn't remember the pain of it, but all in all the experience had been pleasant, for Agatha had taken them to see the play a few days later.

“How long are they gonna keep him here?” Harry asked later. They were still waiting on the paperwork. The hospital was awfully slow, barely had any staff. When Harry had asked Zayn about it, told him how weird it was that they drove miles to a hospital only to one that barely had any people working there.

“We don't need many,” Zayn had said.

“What about emergencies? Or child birth? What if someone had an accident?” 

“It's all covered Harry, don't you worry. We've never had a shortage of staff.”

“We?” Harry had inquired. “You own this place, don't you?” Harry had narrowed his eyes at Zayn.

“My family does.”

Presently, a nurse arrived with a file and handed it to Zayn. Her auburn hair held striking similarity to Helen’s. Harry's heart hurt.

“Let’s go,” Zayn said as he signed the papers and handed the file to the nurse.

“Wait!” Harry was careful not to touch Zayn, his hands still bare. “I should stay here, with Victor. Look after him.”

“There’s no need, Harry. These people will look after him. It's their job.”

“So is mine!” Harry didn't want Zayn to think he was incompetent in what he did. He was here to care for Victor and not even a few days in, Victor was bedridden in a hospital.

“Harry,” Zayn stepped closer, “you have done an amazing job of that. But you also have to understand, you can’t be of much help here. Once Victor’s home, he’ll be all yours to look after. Which I’m sure you'll do wonderfully.” Zayn placated.

“Are you sure? What if Victor needs help with something and nobody’s there? The staff isn't exactly extensive here.”

Zayn laughed. “He will be, don't worry. Trust me on this.”

“Okay,” Harry said as they walked towards the exit. He didn't know what bond or relationship Victor and Zayn shared, hadn't seen the two of them spend much time together even. He had seen Victor’s memories of Zayn - full of love, a devotion of some kind. Victor trusted Zayn, so Harry would have to too. 

-

With no traffic to compete, the soft melody of jazz echoed through the woods, filling up the dark expanse of night with a soft lullaby. Next to Harry, Zayn drove at an alarming speed. Harry thought it was because of the hills that narrowed in them that threatened to crush them anytime. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, listening to the chirrup of birds that escaped through the acoustics of the music. The soft leather of the seats reminded him of his own stranded car. He wondered how Elsie was faring during the cold nights.

“What time is it?” Zayn asked.

Harry was fairly sure it was past 3 AM, as they had left the hospital quite late. Nevertheless, he removed the timepiece tucked in the pocket of his pants and read the time aloud. “Half past four,” he said.

Zayn hummed in acknowledgment and took a swift turn. It was then that Harry noticed how clear the air was, void of any haze obscuring the path ahead. 

_It's not safe to be out at dark._

The words echoed inside Harry's mind.

“What is it that your family does?” Harry asked a while later. 

Zayn’s eyes flickered to Harry for a second, as if caught off guard. “Real estate.”

“And you?”

“I paint. Sometimes. Mostly, I look after the properties,” Zayn replied with practiced ease.

“Did you do Louis then?”

“What?” Zayn whipped around, shoulders tense.

Harry blinked. “The painting in the gallery. That’s Louis, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Zayn said distractedly.

Harry couldn't bring himself to ask anything further. He pulled his legs closer and rested his face on his knees, eyes staring at the roadway ahead as shadows of the night paid their due and morphed into the daylight spilling from the horizon.

-

“Have you seen Zayn?” Harry asked Bridget, poking his head around the door in the study. 

Bridget looked up from where she was writing something in a book. Her hair that was always tied in a bun now fell softly against her shoulder. “No,” she shook her head. “Did you want something?” 

The last time Harry had seen Zayn was when they had returned from the hospital. While Zayn had gone to the kitchen to have a light breakfast, Harry had headed upstairs mumbling how ridiculous it was that Zayn was having breakfast at five in the morning. Six hours later, Harry had woken up with Cersei flat on his chest and a massive headache. He’d had some eggs and dessert from last night, paired with a strong cup of coffee. He’d spent a few hours organizing his things. All that was three hours ago.

“No, thanks,” Harry smiled. He walked inside the study and towards the bookcases, hoping to find something that would catch his eye. Harry brushed his fingers along the rows of books, each one placed orderly. Unfortunately, they were either journals or books related to topics he couldn't care less about, and some were in languages that he couldn't read nor understand.

“Why don't you have a look at the library?” Bridget’s eyes flickered to the bookcases. “I’m sure you'll find something you like.” She closed her book and tucked the pen she’d been using inside it. “There’s a piano up there too,” she added before standing up and leaving.

“Thanks,” Harry said, a little late, to the echo of the empty study.

-

The library was a grand expanse of a room that glowed under the golden light from the lamps, thick blankets thrown over the sofa, rugs that felt soft under the feet as if walking barefoot on grass, and cozy furniture that smelled of old books and forgotten stories.

Harry spotted the imposing instrument tucked away in a far corner with a cloth covering it and walked towards it. The once crisp white of the fabric was coated with specks of dust. He ran a gloved finger over it, the dust sticking to the leather. Harry sighed and wondered why the instrument was left to cower in the dark. He had half a mind to uncover the piano and try his hand at it, but the walls full of books were far more tempting.

Harry surveyed the walls from where he stood. Rows and columns were occupied by bound books, some thick and some thin, some fragile and delicate. The air here seemed different than in the study downstairs.

The small room at Little Darlings — the orphanage where he grew up in — where Harry had spent a considerable amount of his time browsing for new tales now seemed a poor excuse for a library in comparison. While that room had been a haphazard collection of used books that had been generously donated, the library at the Thorne Hills manor had been carefully structured with each book purchased with intent.

From the looks of it, it appeared that hardly anyone came in here. He glanced around the room at the books neatly placed in the walnut bookshelves on display. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for the books and the inanimate objects that had been left here to rot in silence.

Harry trudged up the library stairs to get to the second storey. Minutes passed in search of a book that would satisfy him, that would take his mind off of things that seemed too bizarre to fathom. 

Harry hadn’t ventured into the gallery since last night, except whenever necessary. The events of last night still didn't make any sense to him. Was he really talking to Louis through a painting, a man who had been dead for years? If yes, how was that even possible? Sure, he’d never fully understood the origin of his powers nor the extent of it. It made him wonder how far he could push himself, and whether he was willing to.

There also remained the fateful accident that had ended the night. Victor was by no means a frail old man who couldn't properly move himself around. If Harry was being honest, Victor didn't even need round-the-clock care. He supposed Zayn had other things to look after and Bridget helped maintain the house.

“Aha!” Harry snatched _Jane Eyre_ off the shelf and ran his palm over the cover. The old Yorkshire moors had always charmed him, and just like that his line of thought came to an end. Harry turned and was making his way downstairs to settle in with the book when something creaked. He stopped in his tracks. The rational part of him wanted to believe the sound was probably caused by the stairs, given how old this place was. Still, his heart didn’t calm down at the suggestion. Harry shook his head and walked down the rest of the steps. He was being paranoid over nothing.

No sooner did he reach the end of the stairs than he heard a door being shut. Harry froze. The sound had been loud enough that it couldn't have been far; it had to have been somewhere close by. Perhaps it had been Bridget closing one of the doors, he thought.

The sound of the car engine from outside caught his attention and Harry dashed to the windows. He peered out to find Zayn coming out of his car, looking rather fresh for someone who hadn’t had a proper sleep the night before. A warm smile etched itself on Harry’s face when he saw Cersei following Zayn inside the house. Harry felt his blood run cold when Bridget came into the view from the backyard, trailing behind Cersei.

-

Harry almost ran down the stairs to Zayn’s room. “You're back!” he breathed.

Zayn hummed and busied himself with packing his clothes.

“Are you going somewhere?” Harry asked, _Jane Eyre_ sill clutched in his hand.

“Business.” Zayn looked at Harry who was still stood at the doorway and beckoned him inside. “It's a matter of a few days, if not earlier than that.” Harry flushed with embarrassment at the thought of Zayn having to reassure him.

“This is... nice,” Harry commented, eyes wandering around. Zayn’s room, unlike the rest of the manor and Harry's room, was bleak. The walls were a faded white, reminding Harry of the hospital rooms he had spent hours working in. The dull room held a striking contrast to the rest of the manor that was decorated so lavishly — almost like the outside of the house that was left to fade into the winter.

“Bridget keeps insisting on repainting these walls, says they are colorless and look bland.”

“Well, let her. I’ll help her too,” Harry offered.

“It's fine. I like how they look.” Zayn’s smile vanished, lips forming a thin line. His stern expression quickly shifted into a small smile. Harry thought it was creepy.

“Say, do you know any good mechanic? Elsie — my car, I left her stranded.” Harry smiled sheepishly.

“Oh! Where is it?”

“Just a few miles away, near the old church.”

“Did you go inside?” Zayn asked, eyes wide.

“Yes, that’s where I found Cersei.”

“Right.”

They walked downstairs. Bridget, along with Cersei who was perched on a coffee table, was waiting for them. Wordlessly, Bridget handed Zayn a box, causing him to smile. Zayn kissed Bridget on the cheek and thanked her for the food. Harry backed away, feeling like he was interrupting a private moment.

The couple walked towards the door, while Harry trailed behind them. Bridget waved solemnly when Zayn got in his car and drove past the marble statues. Harry watched until Zayn’s car was out of the gate and his line of sight. He turned to Bridget only to find he was alone and walked inside.

Bridget was on the phone with someone. Harry's gaze wandered around — the manor felt almost empty, the hallways echoed louder than usual. He hadn't realised how much Zayn’s presence affected him.

“I phoned the mechanic,” Bridget said as she hung up the telephone. “They should have your car fixed and brought here by tomorrow.”

Right. “Thanks.” Harry lingered, shuffling on his feet. He contemplated asking Bridget about what had happened in the library. Now though, the more he thought of it, the sillier it sounded. There was nothing unusual about a door being shut.

“Is something the matter, Harry?” Bridget asked, her brows furrowed.

“I was wondering if I could help you with dinner?” Harry lied with a smile.

-

Harry and Bridget were joined by Cersei, who took her seat at the farthest spot on the table, for dinner. The two of them made pleasant conversation, small talk of trying to get to know each other.

Bridget had come to Thorne Hills looking for work and Zayn had taken her in instantly, even though she had no prior experience. She worked around the house, basically managed the manor with occasional help from Zayn. With only three occupants in the house, there wasn’t much work.

When Harry brought up the question of how long Zayn and her had been together, Bridget let out a loud cackle. Harry only smiled sheepishly when Bridget told him that for her, Zayn was nothing more than a best friend and her employer. Though Zayn preferred not to be called the latter.

That night, sleep didn't come easily. Harry tossed and turned, sheets wrinkled on his feet, until finally his eyes rested. He then saw Helen, beautiful and alive, playing with grass. Her hair was golden under the temperate sun. Harry realised he was there too, sitting next to Helen. He yearned to touch her, to remember how warm she was with her kindness and love, and so he did. He brushed his hands across her cheeks, a caress of adoration.

Helen smiled and looked at him. “Silly,” she muttered and offered Harry a wild flower that she had found.

“Miss you,” Harry declared as he tucked the flower in Helen’s hair.

“You shouldn't.”

Helen’s smile vanished, her face morphing into something ghastly. She looked into Harry’s eyes and said, “There’s someone watching you, Harry. Wake up!”

Harry gasped as he came to his senses, chest heaving. The heat against his skin was replaced by cold, yet beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Harry wiped them away while his eyes darted around wildly.

_There’s someone watching you, Harry._

He switched on the lamp on his nightstand and looked around. Apart from Cersei who was staring at him from across the room, there was no one there.

Harry pushed his hair back and ran a hand across his face. It was just a dream, he reminded himself. Pushing the sheets away, Harry made his way downstairs to the kitchen and the refrigerator. The kitchen was cast in a warm faded glow. Harry couldn't tell if it was the fridge light or the moonlight peeking through the windows.

After a cold drink, Harry’s legs took him to the gallery. There he stood again in front of the familiar painting. Without hesitation, Harry removed his gloves and put his palm on the painting. This time, he spoke first. “What are you?” he asked, breath caught in his throat.

A soft laugh rang, and if Harry didn't know better, he’d have been scared and ran around the house screaming bloody murder.

“Out on another late night adventure, I see.” Harry swore he could hear the smirk lingering behind. If only he could _see._

“Who are you?” Harry huffed and splayed his fingers.

“You know.”

The simple tone of ease in the reply irritated Harry. Annoyed, he pushed the heel of his palm against the painting.

“Ow ow! Stop it. Surely you wouldn't want to hurt a broken heart.”

Harry eased his palm. “Did it really hurt?” he asked, surprised.

“Having a broken heart, you get used to the pain. You would know about that, wouldn't you?”

Harry pulled his hand away. Nothing made sense. Was this just another dream? Had he been seeing and hearing things all this time? Was Louis’ voice just the sound of another door closing shut that didn't really exist? 

“Helen was a kind soul,” Louis said when Harry placed his hand on Louis’ chest again.

Harry's breath stuttered. “How do you know Helen?” his voice broke, evoking memories that crushed Harry with pain and happiness alike. Harry half expected Louis to reply with something coy.

“I see it. I can see your memories when you touch me.”

“No, that’s—”

“Not possible? Is it really?”

“I need to go,” Harry exhaled and ran up the stairs.

Up in the refuge of his room, Harry pondered over Louis’ words. Louis was right, it was possible. Harry would know all about it, wouldn't he? A bitter laugh escaped his lips at that. 

All his life he’d searched for someone like him, someone to tell him that he wasn't alone in this. That these powers of his were a boon and not a curse. Of course he would find that person here, someone who’d been dead for years and all that was left of them was a fragment lost in time.

The curtains blew with the wind as Harry pulled the covers closer and lay down on his bed. He watched the moonlight sneak in through the windows before closing his eyes, and felt a teardrop escape his eyes.

-

The nightmare, coupled with the discovery of Louis seeing his memories, had left Harry shaken to the core. Harry realised it had become a habit of his, finding his way to Louis every night. A habit he was intent on breaking. He actively avoided going to the gallery — which Harry found was proving to be quite difficult.

Earlier, Harry had no other reason than Louis to go to the gallery or the study. Now that he was trying to keep away from that area, it seemed like everything led him back to Louis. Harry spent his days locked inside the library, trying to rearrange books. But mostly, he spent his day reading — about Louis and the history of Thorne Hills. The books informed Harry about Louis, but not as much as he would have liked. There was hardly any information in the library, save for the brief introductions on the family history.

The Tomlinsons had owned the majority of the land in the village, land that was passed down to each new generation. As new generations came, the Tomlinsons only grew in wealth, unlike most aristocratic families. It was a time of wealth and prosperity for them.

As for every rich family, the Tomlinsons had had their downfall too. There had to be a reason why the manor was in the condition it was now. Harry looked through every nook and corner in the library to find something credible that would provide him with a proper explanation. Instead, Harry found a family tree.

It started out as a confusion of sorts. While all the bookshelves were attached to the wall, this particular one was detached from it. Curious, Harry tried to move it, but the books made it hard for him to do so. 

When Harry noticed something engraved on the wall behind the bookshelf, he emptied the row and placed all the books on the floor neatly. A family tree, Harry realised, was carved in the wall — the names, along with a year, were scribbled sharply. One of the many odd things Harry came across in the Thorne Hills manor. He crouched to see the complete drawing but some of the names were hidden by the wooden shelves. Harry pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and grunted as he tried to move the bookcase. He only managed a few inches.

Harry peeked through the few inches but the darkness made it hard to read anything. He then switched on the torch on his phone and shed light on the little gap. From this angle, it was hard to read the names. All Harry could make out was the name and year on the last branch of the family tree. _Louis Tomlinson, 1886_ it read.

“That’s helpful,” Harry sighed as he pocketed his phone. The lilac of his sweater was smudged with dust, causing Harry to groan again. He tried dusting away the dirt but it didn't budge. Harry had the urge to kick his legs around — it was his favourite sweater after all. He would clean it later, though.

Harry arranged the books back and made his way to the study, as much as he didn't want to. Harry remembered the journals in the study were organized by year, surely they must have something in them that would explain why there was a family tree carved in a wall and hidden behind a bookcase.

The temptation to look at Louis was mounting as Harry walked through the gallery, but he focused his eyes straight ahead. Harry hoped the study was empty so that he could get in and have a look at the books without anyone noticing him. Unfortunately for him, Bridget was sitting in the armchair near the fireplace, in the study.

Harry froze in his tracks. So much for being sneaky.

“Harry!” Bridget looked up at him. A lump of yarn lay in her lap. “What happened?” she pointed her crochet hook at the patch of dirt on Harry’s sweater.

“Go on, Harry. Tell her,” the unmistakable sound of Louis’ voice rang in his ear. Harry felt blood drain from his face.

“You alright there, Harry?” Bridget asked.

Harry shook his head, he was probably hearing things. “Yes, yes.” He walked closer and sat in the armchair across Bridget. “It won't go away,” Harry said, looking down at his sweater.

“Why don't you give it to me? I’ll clean it for you,” Bridget offered.

“That’s so nice of her. Don't you think, Harry?” Louis said. 

“This isn't possible,” Harry murmured, his heart rate picking up.

“What?” Bridget looked at him, confused. 

Harry cleared his throat. “I mean, I can’t ask that of you. I can do it. I just need some supplies.”

“Nonsense! Give it to me, I’ll do it.”

“What’s that for?” Harry stalled and pointed at the lump of yarn. He felt like a child who had dirtied his clothes.

“Mrs. Hughes is helping me crochet a hat for Cersei.”

“Who’s Mrs. Hughes?” Harry prompted. Maybe he could actually get away with changing the topic.

“Our neighbor. Now take off that sweater.”

“We have neighbors?” Harry asked, puzzled. There was not a single house yards away from here. Harry sighed as he gave up and removed his sweater when Bridget stood up.

“Well, I was hoping you had nothing underneath that sweater,” Louis spoke again. 

Harry flushed as he looked down at the shirt he was wearing underneath the sweater.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” Bridget cooed.

Harry handed the sweater to her. “Thank you for this.”

As soon as Bridget was out of his sight, Harry sprinted to the book cases. Each book had a year written on their spine, which made things easier for Harry. He looked through every shelf carefully, lest he missed the journal.

He tried the drawers of the table, but they were locked too. “Where is it?” Harry uttered, frustrated.

“You can just ask me, instead of chasing an old book which might not be reliable,” Louis said, his giggle sounding as pleasant as the first ray of sunshine after the coldest of winters.

“Stop it!” Harry said, face flushed. He might like the painting, but he had no liking for whatever this was. 

“No,” Louis’ voice giggled again.

Harry bolted to the gallery and huffed, “How are you doing this?” His will to stay away from Louis had lasted less than a day.

Louis only laughed more. “I wasn't lying when I said that I hoped you had nothing underneath that sweater,” Louis’ voice was soft now, almost shy.

Harry blushed further. He couldn't believe he was blushing because a painting was flirting with him.

“It's a shame it was ruined. I’m sure Bridget can fix it,” Louis said matter-of-factly.

“You're quite frustrating,” Harry feigned annoyance.

“I’m a delight, Harry.”

Harry almost envisioned Louis flipping his hand and shrugging at the cheeky reply. The vision only reminded him of how not real Louis was. 

Harry laughed bitterly. He couldn't touch Louis, couldn't see his smile or the twinkle in his eyes when he laughed. What he did have was the opportunity to touch Louis’ painting, to feel a piece of him — no matter how fictitious — and he wasn't going to let that go. 

Harry removed his gloves and felt the rough texture of paint under his fingers as he put his palm on the painting.

“Admit it, Harry, you missed me.”

“I wish I didn't.” Harry slumped his shoulders.

“I missed you too,” Louis whispered. “Why did you leave then?”

“There’s something about you that makes me forget everything. It's like, even unreal, you demand my attention,” Harry shuddered out a breath and whispered as if he was sharing a secret. “You take up my whole being, Louis. You consume me.”

“And you let me.” Harry felt Louis’ heartbeat pick up.

“You don't leave me much of a choice, do you.”

Harry rested his head against Louis’ chest on the painting and heard Louis’ heartbeat clear as day. Harry breathed along with him, syncing his breaths to Louis’ so that he could have at least something with Louis, if not nothing. For now, every breath he was taking was something he shared with Louis. Something that would remain closest to his heart.

“What were you looking for?” Harry felt Louis’ voice rumble through his chest. It felt too real.

“A book, from the year 1886.” Harry took a step back, hand still on the painting. His eyes traced every feature of Louis' face on the painting. From the dark shadow of his hair against his forehead to the sharp cut of his cheekbones — the curve of his lips that blossomed fairer than the reddest of roses and led into a smile, and the pink blossom of them that enticed Harry.

“Why?” Louis’ voice was steady. 

“I found something — a family tree. I couldn't see the other names but yours was there, scribbled along with the year _1886_.”

“That’s my birth year, Harry.”

“You're ages away from me,” Harry said, his tone somber. The ache in his chest was back, stinging at his flesh with a cruelty making his eyes water.

“I’m closer to you than you think.”

“Why doesn't it feel like it then?” Harry wiped at his eyes with his shoulder.

“I’m more alive than this house and those plants that you caress every morning,” Louis’ voice whispered brokenly.

“All done! Clean as a whistle,” Bridget said as she walked inside the gallery, making Harry jerk his hand away from Louis.

“Thank you! That sweater was one of my favorite,” Harry said to Bridget and hoped that his voice didn't sound as shaky as it did to him.

“Hmm, it is a lovely color,” Bridget commented and walked to the study, resuming her crocheting.

Harry followed her to the study and stood at the entrance. “That’s a hat for Cersei, you said.”

“Don’t tease, Harry,” Bridget rolled her eyes. “She’ll love this, you’ll see.”

Harry put his hands up and backed away. As he rounded past the gallery, Louis’ voice echoed in his ears. “Stop looking for answers, Harry. It's not worth it.”

“ _Yo_ _u_ are worth everything,” Harry said aloud to the empty echo of the living room, and went to his room.

Back in his room, Harry clicked the door shut. He slumped on the bed with a loud thump and laid face down on his stomach in favour of wallowing in self-pity.

Louis’ words swam through Harry’s veins like the bitter poison of a snake that intended to kill.

_Stop looking for answers, Harry. It's not worth it._

It baffled Harry to know how little Louis thought of himself. Didn't he know? Wasn't he aware of the way Harry’s heart skipped a beat when his laughter resonated in Harry’s ears? Or the way Louis captivated him so intensely that Harry couldn’t bear to take his eyes off of him? Even fictitious — just a fragment of Louis’ own memories suspended in time — Louis took up every part of Harry, leaving Harry with no choice but to be consumed by him. 

-

_Sunlight filtered inside the room, reflecting off Louis’ skin. Harry shuddered out a breath, his hands making their way into Louis’ hair. In the early morning glow, Louis looked ethereal — an angel that had found his heaven between Harry’s legs._

_Louis gripped Harry’s inner thigh as he sucked a mark on his other leg._

_“Please,” Harry begged and pulled Louis’ hair. Louis moaned in reply and took Harry all the way in till Harry hit the back of his throat._

_“Fuck,” Harry groaned at he wet heat of Louis’ mouth that overtook his every sensation._

_Harry gasped out when Louis started sucking him, head bobbing in between the sheets. Harry wanted to kiss him._

_He tugged on Louis’ hair until he popped up from under him, a devilish smile on his face. Harry pulled Louis down until he was straddling him, his hands making their way to Louis’ waist._

_“You are something else,” he breathed out and kissed Louis senseless. He ran his tongue along the seam on Louis’ lips until he could taste the sweet intoxication of Louis’ mouth._

_Louis moaned in Harry’s mouth as Harry cupped his cheeks and squeezed him. Harry rolled his hips just as Louis rutted down to meet his movements. Harry continued to kiss Louis, biting and pulling at his lip with fervour until they were swollen red._

_“Harry, I want to come,” Louis gasped when Harry circled a finger around his rim._

_“Please,” Louis begged as he fell forward and bit Harry’s shoulder._

_“You’re going to come like this,” Harry ordered, his cock sliding against Louis’ entrance._

_Louis rutted down on Harry, dick trapped in between, as he chased the feeling of Harry’s cock against his hole._

_“Feels so good, Harry, don't stop.”_

_Harry thrust upwards as he pulled Louis’ cheeks apart. He wanted nothing more than to get his mouth on Louis — to kiss him there and revel in his taste._

_“Can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” Harry grunted out as his dick almost caught on Louis’ hole._

_“Yeah, want that so bad,” Louis mumbled in Harry’s neck, hands fisting the sheets._

_“Look at me,” Harry gritted out, voice rough. He placed two fingers on Louis’ lips, who took them eagerly and moaned around Harry’s fingers._

_Harry pulled out his fingers, and circled Louis’ entrance. Louis gasped at the touch and ground down harder until Harry’s fingers were inside him._

_Louis screamed out a moan as he came, the sound making Harry shudder and spill over Louis’ back._

Harry woke to sounds of birds chirping outside. He sat up and groaned at the sharp pain that tugged at the back of his head. He was still in the haze of the dream he’d had last night, the hardness in his pants was a clear indication of what had happened in the dream.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his face. “It's the cold,” Harry mumbled out a lame excuse for the dream he’d had about Louis. Harry took a peek at his timepiece on the bedside table. It was still rather early for him to be up, but he pushed away the sheets regardless. He padded his way to the windows and closed them. He went to make his bed but stopped upon seeing Cersei curled in between the sheets, a fond smile making its way on his lips. 

“My little phantom,” Harry whispered softly and kissed her head. Cersei stretched at the contact and yawned. She opened her eyes, blinking grumpily at Harry. Harry laughed and smoothed a hand down her back. He patted her on the shoulder gently until she closed her eyes and resumed her slumber. Harry pulled the sheets and covered her, careful not to wake her up.

Sparing Cersei another glance, Harry made his way to the bathroom. He had a problem to take care of.

Harry undressed as he stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water. He hissed and stepped back from the spray when the cold water touched his skin. It was too cold.

Harry switched the tap to hot water and felt himself relax. He sighed as the warm water rained down on him, filling up the room with steam.

Unsure if what he was doing was right, Harry slowly took ahold of himself. He exhaled breathily at the contact and dragged his hand along his shaft. It fattened up quickly as he envisioned his dream — Louis in his bed in between the sheets.

Louis with his long lashes and cherry lips. His eyes had been blue, so blue Harry had thought he had been diving into an ocean. His mouth so beautiful, stretched around Harry’s cock as he had sucked Harry eagerly.

Harry pumped his hand in earnest, the vision of Louis with sleep-mussed hair and spit trickling down his neck as he went down on Harry. 

Harry wanted to go down on Louis, kiss every part of his body and love him. Mark him up with his teeth while worshiping him at his altar.

“I wouldn't mind, you know.”

Harry froze, stopping his hand movement as Louis’ voice whispered shyly in his ears.

“You don't have to stop. It's rather entertaining to watch you get yourself off.”

Harry wanted to kiss away the smirk he could hear in Louis’ voice.

“How are you doing this?” Harry asked. He shuddered as he traced a finger down his length.

Louis hummed, “Not important. Would you like my help? I’d love to help.”

Harry didn't know if Louis was being serious or just teasing. For all he knew, he was talking to someone who had died years ago. It felt wrong.

“It doesn't feel wrong to me. Would it feel right if I was there? If I was the one touching you?”

“Louis —”

“Don’t act like you weren’t just thinking of me sucking your dick.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of a naked Louis in his bed and between his legs.

“Don't you want that, Harry? Don't you want to take up my mouth and fill me up until I’m breathing through my nose?”

“Yes,” Harry shivered, his cock twitching in response to Louis’ words. “Want it so much.”

“Move your hand, Harry. Move it the way you would caress me, the way you would touch me until I’m gasping out your name.”

“Louis, please.”

“Now go faster,” Louis said, his voice shaky. “Use your other hand to pinch your nipples. Pull them until they're sore.”

Harry wanted to suck Louis’ nipples. He wanted to push Louis up against the wall, run his fingers all over Louis’ body until he was begging for more.

Harry slumped against the shower wall, pumping his hand faster and twisting his nipple with the other hand. Harry thumbed his slit, collecting the precum there, and switched to the other nipple.

"Wish I was there, Harry. Wish that was my mouth instead of your hand," Louis said. "I'd get on my knees for you, anytime you wanted, and let you use my mouth. Let you fill me up until my mouth aches and you're spilling down my throat."

"Fuck, Louis. Wish you were here."

"Do you know what I'd do next?" Louis asked. Harry tried to reply, to say something, but all that came out was a drawled out moan. "I'd ride your face. You would you let me, wouldn't you?"

It wasn't hard for Harry to imagine that — Louis above Harry , his hands gripping the headboard of the bed as he ground down to meet Harry's tongue. Harry came in his hands, shaking with desire that overwhelmed him to the core.

"You're so beautiful," Louis whispered in Harry's ears.

"Louis," Harry whispered and tried to hold Louis, to feel Louis’ touch against his skin. All Harry was left with empty air devoid of the warmth he craved.

-

An hour later, Harry trudged down to the kitchen for breakfast. His heart felt heavy ad mind fogged up with the event from this morning. What happened had only made Harry realised he could never have Louis and yet, he had gone and fallen for him — an illusion of time and his powers.

On the kitchen table was a plate and a note that said: _Made a plate for you. Warm it up if you like. I’m in the barn if you need me._ Harry smiled at the thoughtfulness and proceeded to make some tea. Once done, he grabbed his tea and the plate and sat at the dining table. The pain still lingered in his head, and Harry only hoped a good steaming cup of tea would be able to drive it away.

As Harry gulped down his eggs, his eyes flickered to the painting hung above the fireplace. Constance, in all her glory, was imposing as ever. She looked beautiful in the painting, Harry couldn't imagine how she’d look in person. No wonder Zayn was her son, Harry thought.

Curiosity got the best of Harry. He stood up and walked over to where Constance was hung. Harry wondered if her personality was as imposing as her painting. “Only one way to find out,” he murmured and removed his gloves to touch the portrait.

Harry chuckled to himself when he neither saw nor felt anything. He put on his gloves and made his way to the kitchen to clean his plate. As the water rushed through the tap, Harry's mind raced with various thoughts. Constance’s painting turning out to be ordinary was a relief Harry was glad to have. Though he wasn't close to understanding how Louis’ portrait came to be, how he could do things Harry could. He wasn't even sure whether Louis’ voice in his head was a fragment of his imagination or not. His mind begged the question — Louis was supposed to be dead. Wasn't he?

A chill ran down Harry’s spine at the thought. Harry's nights had always been claimed by the unknown, reserved for things he didn't fancy venturing into. The serenity of daylight had always provided him with a sense of security, one that he wasn't willing to compromise anytime soon.

Harry checked Cersei’s bowl of water before he made his way to the barn. He hadn't seen her since last night. Harry shrugged — in a house as big as this, she could be anywhere —, poured some kibbles into a dish for her and left the manor.

“You came,” Bridget said as Harry entered the barn.

“This place is too shabby for you,” Harry commented, eyeing the old dusty windows.

Bridget laughed, her pleasant voice echoing off the old brick walls. “You flatter me, Harry,” she said bashfully.

Harry smiled and walked closer to Bridget. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Arranging some of Zayn’s stuff.”

“Are those his paintings?” Harry pointed at the items covered with a cloth. 

“Can I see them?” he asked excitedly when Bridget nodded.

“Sorry,” she shrugged. “He’s very particular with his things. I haven't seen them either.”

“Oh,” Harry let out, disappointment lacing his voice. Harry hopped on a ratty table that creaked when he sat on it. “Perhaps you can take a break? I was thinking of visiting Victor at the hospital. Why don't you come along?”

Bridget shook her head, a soft smile on her lips. 

“I’ll help when we get back. Come on!” Harry insisted.

“Thanks Harry, but I can’t. Tell Victor I miss him, will you?”

Harry nodded in understanding and bid Bridget goodbye. He walked leisurely across the vast yard. It was a shame, Harry thought as he looked at the gazebo that almost faded into the wintery mist, the manor looming behind it. He wondered how grand it must have looked like in its early days. Harry wasn't even sure how old the place actually was.

He stopped at the abandoned fountain to admire the obsolete structure. Without water, the framework was left in a desolate condition. A sense of nostalgia and a will to make this place better filled Harry. He couldn't understand why Zayn would leave this estate, so beautiful, in the hands of the wretched weather. In that moment, Harry saw a tail swish in the basin of the fountain. He bent sideways to find a peaceful Cersei splayed on her back with her limbs stretched. Harry moved closer and crouched down. He felt his heart burst with love when she curled inwards and put her paws on her face.

“Harry!” someone called loud enough that it startled Cersei awake. Harry picked up Cersei and turned to the source of the voice. Bridget smiled when Cersei came into view. 

“Are you sure she is a stray?” Bridget asked as she pet Cersei. She giggled when Cersei caught her hand with her teeth and started to lick her. “I've never seen a stray cat as domesticated as her.”

Harry chuckled, Bridget was right. In only a few days, Cersei had won them all over. A cruel thought passed Harry's mind, the thought of what he’d do if anything ever happened to her. 

“You alright, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry blinked, relaxing his jaw.

“How were you planning on going to the hospital?

Well, that Harry hadn't thought of.

“Did you think of biking there?” Bridget scoffed, shaking her head. “Your car is upfront,” she added.

“Elsie?” Harry's eyes widened.

“That _thing_ has a name? That hideous thing?”

“She’s pretty,” Harry defended.

“Sure... I've left the keys inside the car,” Bridget provided as she took Cersei from Harry's hands.

“Thanks.”

“Harry!” Bridget exclaimed just as Harry turned to leave. “Be careful. Those rocks like to fall with little to no warning.”

-

In daylight, the hospital seemed more eerie than the last time Harry had been there. The old building stood on top of a steep hill, secluded from the town. It made no sense to Harry as to why a medical centre would be isolated from the town. The fact that it had almost no staff only baffled him further.

The smell of disinfectants hung heavy in the air as Harry entered the hospital. A woman of slender body was at the reception. Harry recognised her from his last visit.

“Hello!” Harry said, chirpier than was fit for a place like this. “I’m here to see Victor Tomlinson.”

The woman looked up. “Name?” she asked haughtily.

“Harry Styles.”

"Those are quite pretty," she said, pointing at the flowers Harry was holding, and showed Harry the way.

Harry smiled bashfully as he walked behind her. The lilies hadn’t been his first choice, but they had been the only ones the old lady at the little florist shop had that weren't half dead. He hoped Victor would like them too.

_

Harry bid Victor goodbye with a heart heavier that he’d thought. Harry had insisted he take Victor home, promising to do a better job than the nurse here at the hospital. Victor had smiled and chastised Harry the same way Zayn had done. They barely had started the conversation when a nurse had interrupted them, the one who reminded Harry of Helen. She had asked Harry to leave, claiming visiting hours were over. Harry had wanted to argue and stay put, but each time he had looked at her, he had been reminded of Helen. The last time Harry had spoken to Helen, they’d had a row which had resulted in Harry storming off and Helen never to be seen again.

Harry complied with the nurse’s wishes and promised Victor to come back at an earlier time. He drove back to the Thorne Hills manor with windows down. Taking his sweet time and letting the cold wind sting him with the kiss of winter. Lights flickered in the distance. It felt like he had driven miles, the fields following him as he went, but the lights never came in close.

The last time Harry had come down this road had been with Zayn. In the dead of night, the rocks had felt innocent. A soulless, harmless being. Now cast it daylight with Bridget's voice humming in his mind, the rocks felt threatening. Their fall, impending cause of doom. Bridget's words rang with alarm until Harry increased his speed and drove faster to reach the town square. 

He passed the florist shop on his way, watching the old lady sell the drooping tulips she had offered Harry to someone else. A few miles later, Harry noticed a worn out sign that read Tainted River. Harry had never seen it, and the way Zayn had described it only tempted him to stop Elsie and have a look. Except, he had a more pressing matter to deal with.

Harry drove farther for the telltale sign of the library, and found it just a few meters away. The faded building was secluded from the rest of the stores in the square. A dull banner that said “Library” was hung crookedly.

The first thing Harry saw when he walked in was brown hair with complementary brown eyes. The man in front of him stumbled, two boxes stacked up in his hands.

"May I help you?" he spoke from behind the boxes, voice gruff.

"Maybe I should," Harry countered and took a box from him.

"Thanks," the man smiled. "Just put them here," he told Harry as he put the box down near a table.

“Liam,” he introduced and stuck out his hand.

Harry put the box down and shook Liam’s hand. “Harry.”

“So you're the one then,” Liam walked to a small area that was reserved for refreshments. “Tea?”

“Thanks.” Harry took a seat in a chair nearby and looked around. The walls were painted a soft pink which instantly calmed Harry. Chairs were thrown haphazardly around tables, while the books — though a compact collection — were neatly arranged. While the library at Thorne Hills manor consisted of disciplined furniture and unused books, this library echoed with worn out books, and all–nighters pulled by students in preparation for their exams.

“I’m the one?” Harry questioned when Liam handed him tea.

“The nurse.”

“Yes, yes,” Harry smiled as the warmth from the paper cup seeped through the leather that covered his hands. “Victor is quite endearing.”

“So he is,” Liam laughed. “Sightseeing then? There’s not much to see here, I’m afraid.”

“There’s Tainted River,” Harry offered.

Liam’s eyes lit up. “It is quite astonishing, isn't it?”

“Uh… I haven't actually seen it yet,” Harry admitted sheepishly.

“Why not? It runs just along the cemetery at Thorne Hills manor!”

“Thorne Hills manor has its own cemetery?” Harry hoped his eyes didn't bug out.

“Unacceptable, Harry!” Liam shook his head. “You come to Thorne Hills and haven't seen the only thing worth seeing.” 

“I've seen Louis,” Harry countered.

“Of course,” Liam smiled in a way strongly similar to how Louis smiled in his portrait. Something unsettled Harry deep inside. “I’m assuming you came here for more.” Liam sipped from his cup.

“Has no one ever tried to find out what happened to him?”

“Generations have gone, Harry. In a town like this, you learn not to ask questions.” Liam’s smile faded. “You're here for him, I’ll give you everything I have on him. Might be a bit dusty and it should be able to satisfy your curiosity.” 

Harry nodded and watched Liam disappear through the backdoor. A few seconds later, he came back with a book and a few paper clippings. “Here,” he handed them over to Harry.

Harry mumbled out a thank you and took his place at one of the tables. One of the paper clippings hosted a small picture of Louis, the ink almost faded. His eyes twinkled in the photograph, the same way they did in the portrait. As though he knew the secrets of the world — and that, Harry now knew to be true. Maybe Louis wasn't like Harry at all. Maybe he used his powers freely and embraced them with pride.

A smile was etched on his face, a soft smile Harry wished was for him and not the person who took this photograph. Jealousy ran deep in his veins.

"That interesting, eh?" Liam's voice distracted Harry.

"Uh…" Harry looked back and forth from the book to Liam.

"Nobody ever comes in for him. He's a local legend here. Every adult and child is familiar with the tragic past of the Tomlinsons."

"Right.”

“Take him home if you like,” Liam offered. Harry blushed at the insinuation. If Liam noticed, he didn't show.

“You can return the book later. It's not not like anybody uses it.”

Delighted, Harry profusely thanked Liam and promised to have the book back in a few days.

_

December arrived with the promise of a bitter winter that would bring snow. Victor was home now, though Zayn hadn’t come back yet. Victor seemed well and on his way to a quick recovery. Harry devoted himself to his patient, tending to him and always taking care of him. Apologies were shared from Harry, insisting that he should've taken better care of Victor. The latter only smiled and dismissed any and every apology.

It had been snowing since last night, the outdoors were covered in the thick white blanket of cold. To ease boredom, Harry, Victor and Bridget decided to play cards. The trio were sitting in the living room, enjoying the warm heat from the fireplace.

After losing for the third time, Harry stood up feigning sleep. 

“A sore loser is what you are,” Victor said, laughing along with Bridget.

“Am not!” Harry huffed. "Have you seen Cersei?" he asked Bridget and Victor just as he was climbing the stairs. They shook their heads.

"I'll look for her. Haven't seen her in a while and the weather isn't merciful at all," Harry informed and looked around the house. When he didn't find her, he went outside. Maybe she was hidden in the barn.

Harry shook his legs once inside the barn. His feet were wet from the snow and the barn was cold. Zayn’s paintings — still covered — were stacked in a corner against an old table. Harry moved towards the paintings and watched them keenly until he remembered why he had come here in the first place.

A minute later, Harry looked around the room as he moved every broken chair and stool that lay in his way. He had hoped to find Cersei in the fountain again, but she hadn’t been there either. Harry rubbed his hands together to garner some heat. Worry lines creased his forehead at the thought of a soaked Cersei freezing in the snow.

Harry moved towards the paintings, hoping she was hidden behind them and snoozing away. Harry leaned in and peaked around the paintings. Nothing. 

Harry jogged outside, anxiety bubbling inside of him. He stopped and backtracked to the barn a few seconds later. “Curiosity killed the cat,” Harry murmured as he leaned down to uncover the paintings.

The pale white sheets were lifted to show beautiful paintings, canvases painted in a detailed manner. With a smile on his face, Harry studied Zayn’s paintings. The first one was of the village of Thorne Hills, the town square painted in its busiest moment. The scene looked as though from a golden age — people dressed in garments that seemed from a different era, shops and stalls arranged with merchants to display their products. The manor loomed in the background like an omniscient presence.

The next painting was of the manor itself. Thorne Hills Manor in its full grandeur. Harry breathed heavily at the sight, the manor was exceptionally beautiful, the house decorated lavishly for Christmas. Snow blanketed its grounds, the marble statues seemed to almost melt in the snow. The moon hung bright in the sky, a source of brightness in the dark of night. A Christmas tree was also painted in the far corner.

Harry smiled, impressed. He wondered why Zayn didn't sell his paintings, or put them on display.

The next painting was a portrait. Harry's heart skipped a beat at the face. A man was splayed on a diwan, a book thrown over his chest, collars of his shirt exposed to show the soft skin underneath. His eyes were blue, nothing like the dark ink of the portrait that hung in the gallery inside the manor.

Harry looked at the next painting. It was the same face Harry was beginning to admire so ardently. Louis’ eyes were blue again, not black. Here he was stood next to one of the marble statues, striking the same pose as the statue.

Harry’s breathing picked up when he saw the next painting. The blue of Louis’ eyes was lost deep in the black of Zayn’s while Harry was left to stare at the painting blankly. The two men had their arms around each other, the hem of Louis’ shirt bunched up in Zayn’s hand.

Disbelief coupled with jealousy birthed a cloud of anger in Harry. Impulsively, Harry removed his gloves and touched the painting. Zayn and Louis were smiling at each other the way one would smile at their lover. Eyes fond with love and smiles that whispered secrets only they knew.

The colours faded as Harry withdrew his hand and gasped for air. He stumbled back, shaking his head at what he had just seen. “It can’t be. No…” Harry mumbled and walked backwards until he was outside.

He sprinted inside the manor and rushed to the library. Slamming the doors open, Harry dashed to the table. The papers and books he had borrowed were still there. Harry’s fingers trembled with the shock of what he had just seen as he opened the book and turned the pages. He didn't know what he was looking for. Perhaps a reason to believe that what — _whom —_ he had seen was a part of his vile imagination.

When Harry turned the last page of the book, he backed away. His heart sunk at the image in front of him — a photograph of Louis and Zayn, in which Louis was wearing the same clothes as in the portrait. Harry shuddered out a long breath before shutting the book close.

-

Three hours later and Harry was still in the library, hiding from the world. The sky outside had turned dark, the library was once again cast in the golden hue of the lamps. Harry built a fire in the fireplace, warming himself as he read _Jane Eyre._ Harry only wished he could be as brave as her, to walk away from the love of one’s life. While Rochester pleaded with the temptation of passion, Jane didn't give in to its heat. Harry didn't know if he could ever steel himself to make such a decision. 

Harry shut the book close and walked up the second storey to place _Jane Eyre_ back at the end of the row. He placed his hand on the wall adjacent to the shelves as he took a minute to admire the bookshelf. He had managed to organize a few rows in a few hours; it turned out to be an effective way to take his mind off things he couldn't comprehend.

Harry leaned on his side with a slight force and the wall cracked open. Bewildered, he stepped back. Harry pushed the wall open further and what once looked like a normal wall turned out to be a door. Walking into the room, Harry saw that an old dirty sofa occupied the majority of the space. The wallpaper was ripped to expose the mould covering the walls, and cobwebs lined the only window in the room. Harry looked out the window, the gazebo in his plain view. The clothes that Bridget had hung yesterday blew with the cold air. Harry followed the moonlight shining in the corner of the room behind the door. He wrinkled his nose at the musty smell and looked closer and found a trapdoor haphazardly covered with a rug. 

It was a no brainer that this was a secret room, one that Harry wasn't meant to find and by the looks of it, he wasn't the only who had come here. Harry pulled up the trap door and looked down. His heart thudded violently at the thought of what might be down there. It seemed silly to be scared, especially when Harry has seen and felt things that a normal person wasn't supposed to. Yet, fear of the unknown was gawking at him, mocking him to take a step forward.

Harry pulled out his phone to turn on the torch and aimed it below. A flight of steps, he realised. Phone clutched in one hand, Harry climbed down the steps carefully; the odor of stale air only intensified when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Harry shuddered at what he saw. With a wave of surprise, it dawned on Harry this was the reason why he'd felt such malice around the house. Burnt out candles with wax pooled around them occupied the small bench in front of him. A lantern glowed in the far corner of the room, its flame dying out. 

Everything blurred in a matter of seconds – his phone was no longer in his hand, the only source of light was the dim lantern burning. Bile rose to his mouth as Harry squinted to see properly. The feeling of being watched loomed over him. Harry froze and exhaled. 

“Who’s there!?” Harry's voice echoed in the room. It did nothing to ease the panic that was flowing through his veins. Harry gulped and crouched to find his phone before everything succumbed to the darkness.

“Harry,” a voice whispered in Harry’s ears. This voice wasn't the soft tone of Louis’ that Harry had grown to love in a few days. This voice rang with haunted evil. If Harry's heart had been thudding before, now it was caught in his throat.

“Turn around, Harry. I won't hurt you,” said the voice. Harry would be a fool to say the voice was friendly in any way. Yet, he obeyed the disembodied voice. Harry breathed loudly in the face of darkness and waited for the voice to show its face.

Another brush of a hand against his shoulder. “Who’s there!?” Harry repeated in a shaky voice.

“Me!” The person stood in front of Harry, close enough that Harry could feel their breath. He looked into their eyes, eyes that he had grown familiar with. The same pair of eyes he saw everyday, but not so at the same time — eyes that were brown, like the colour of soil that gives birth to a new life. These eyes, though, they burned like the fire from a pit in hell.

Harry was scared, as much as he wouldn't want to be. In sleep, facing his demons was easier. He always had the option of waking up and running away from them. Wide awake, Harry had nowhere to run. He was frozen, with his tongue tied and heart jumping at his throat.

A light flashed in the room. Harry saw the beautiful face Zayn had admired every day, and fiery eyes that made Harry run for his life. And so Harry did. He ran in the direction of the light, flailing his hands to push open the old wooden door that led him outside.

“Harry? Harry, are you okay?” It was Zayn running towards Harry. Harry couldn't see him properly, Zayn was a mere silhouette that was cast in his direction.

“You're back!” Harry heaved as he fell into Zayn’s arms. “You're back.”

“What happened? What—” Zayn stopped abruptly. Harry stood back up, distancing himself from Zayn. “What did you see, Harry?” Zayn asked. His voice felt colder than the December air that tickled Harry's hair.

Before Harry could speak, a loud screech interrupted him. Harry's blood ran cold, he knew that voice. He had heard that sound once before when he had stumbled over Cersei and struggled with his towel. Gulping, Harry looked to Zayn and then turned around.

The lights from Zayn’s car washed over Cersei’s small body.

“Cersei!” Both Harry and Zayn took off in an instant.

“No no no,” Harry muttered and ran to Cersei, his feet uncomfortably digging in the thick snow.

Harry's vision blurred the moment he set his eyes upon Cersei. Her body moved in rhythm to her erratic breaths, mouth open just enough to wail in pain. Harry reached out to her, he needed to know where she was hurt so he could fix it.

“Harry!” Zayn exclaimed from behind him. “Your hands are bare,” he reminded Harry.

Harry looked at his hands, then wiped away his tears. Zayn knowing his secret was the least of his worries in that moment. He had a life to save. “I have to know what happened! I have to fix her,” he sniffled.

Heart hammering in his chest, Harry touched Cersei’s warm body. Nostalgia from when he’d first found Cersei filled his senses before the pain did.

Darkness swallowed Harry whole, leaving him suspended in a shallow swarm of darkness.

“Harry,” Zayn whispered, hand coming to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry flinched, gasping and struggling to move away from Cersei.

“She’s gone!” Harry sobbed. “Zayn, she’s gone!”

Harry's cries amplified into a chilling shrill. Harry wailed at the death that surrounded him, his screams agonizing as that of a banshee who had come to witness the fall of yet another life into the heart of darkness.

_

Harry winced every time the metal head of the shovel thudded against the wet ground, the sound ringing in his ears. The bright morning sky had now turned cloudy, the onset of a heavy shower on the brink. It was as if the sky was mourning along with him.

Cersei was in a small wooden box next to him, a small blanket thrown over her lest she got cold. Harry pulled at his rubber gloves insistently, the itch to hold her close increasing with every passing minute. Every now and then, he’d catch Zayn throwing him a sympathetic glance, a small flick of his eyes to make sure Harry wasn't touching her lifeless body.

 _It's for your own good, Harry,_ he had said as he had taken Cersei away, leaving Harry to put his gloves on.

The shovel hit the ground with a loud thump. Realisation hit Harry hard; it was time to put Cersei to rest. He jerked forward as Zayn moved to pick up Cersei.

“Let me. Please,” he begged. “I won't take off my gloves. I just — just want to hold her one last time.”

Zayn backed away, nodding.

Harry heard sniffles as he bent forward and picked up his little darling. You would think with a profession such as his, Harry would be used to death. He’d never let himself get too attached to anyone, the blooming fear of being left behind always stopping him when he had. Never had his heart jumped in fear at the thought of Cersei. It had only ever swelled with love and affection for her, and the will to protect and care for her. Now though, his heart bled with pain.

Harry looked at Cersei one last time. Despite his better judgement, he removed one of his gloves, his hands hidden with his back to Zayn. His heart thudded in his throat, ready to jump. He reached out tentatively and placed a hand on Cersei’s cold body. 

The cruelty of death hit him, enveloping him in a cold he'd never escape. Harry screamed, crying out at the emptiness that overwhelmed him to the brink.

Cersei’s lifeless body fell to the ground as the wooden box fell from his grip, a pair of hands already steadying him as he stumbled backward and fell to his knees. Harry let out another cry, wailing like a banshee at the death at hand.

He jerked away from Zayn’s touch. “Don't! Don't touch me.”

Harry stormed away farther into the woods and didn't turn to see the look on Zayn's face, no doubt one of pity and concern. He only stopped when he reached the Tainted River, the sense of morbidity never leaving him.

Harry fell to his knees. Coming to Thorne Hills had been a new start for him. A way to leave his past behind and stop looking for answers that would do him no good. Yet here he was under the brooding sky of death, looking for answers that would justify the agony in his chest. He couldn't understand why he had to be the one to feel this pain, to be left behind to deal with the burden of death. 

Harry watched his tears mingle with the freshwater of the Tainted River. The pain that birthed his tears was still inside him, raging, but those tears swam away with the current to find their destiny. Harry wondered, what was _his_ destiny? Was he to always weep over the dead, watch them leave him in this world that craved power more than love? Was he condemned to watch over the crippled and pay witness to their heartbreak? Was he damned to taste the passions of others while he stood in the audience?

Harry had been abandoned by the person who had given birth to him. Yet, he had managed to find a family. A kin in Helen. While everyone was playing with toys and wooing girls they liked, Harry was busy building a relationship with Helen. The boys in the orphanage teased him for not having the same interests as them, for spending his free time with Helen as she read him books and magical stories. 

Harry had made plans. Plans that involved working hard until he pooled enough money and got a house for Helen and himself. Their relationship was never carnal — neither Harry nor Helen ever decided to explore that part. Now when he looks back, he thinks Helen might have known his secret — that Harry liked boys the way most people liked girls.

Helen was taken from him too soon. A drunken mistake of man who drove too fast and paid little attention. The water of the Tainted River reminded Harry of the blood that stained Helen’s white shirt red. The blood had seeped through the cotton and no matter how much pressure Harry had applied, it hadn’t stopped bleeding. When the bleeding finally stopped, so did her heart. So did Harry's.

Harry wiped away his tears and stood. He looked up, challenging the sky to rain over him so that he may wash himself away. 

Nothing happened.

Angry and furious, Harry kicked his leg on the ground. For better or for worse, the sticky mud caused him to slip, falling into the river and drowning in cold water. The red water splashed over him as pressure built up in his throat and lungs. Part of Harry wanted to reach out, swim back to the riverside and let the cool oxygen soothe his burning throat. Then he asked himself, _is it worth it?_

Silence echoed in reply. Not for the first time, his heart felt heavy. All the grief from his past and present weighed Harry down. He felt his heart clench when he thought of Louis. What would Louis have said to Harry now? Harry doesn't know, because Louis wasn't real. Not anymore. Though Louis’ voice echoed in his ears like the chirping of birds on an early of morning of spring, he was dead. He was too far gone, and Harry could never reach him.

He had nothing felt that tied him to this world. The material things that once made Harry smile will never be enough now. Not when he had a heavy heart and no one to live for.

Harry closed his eyes, focusing on the water around him and not the burn in his throat. He thought of the day he had left Little Darlings, hopeful and ready to take on the world. Memories from when he had served war victims, people hanging onto a last thread of life, burned in the back of his mind. The pain he was feeling was no match for what they had felt. Every time he’d moved to help someone, they’d held on to him in hopes that their suffering would lessen. Every time they’d touched Harry, their crippling affliction had become a part of him. They’d lived on, with a brave face and a heavy heart, while Harry had been left behind to bear the pain and relive it on his darkest days. 

Harry closed his eyes once again and felt the pain drain out of him as did his life. Floating in the tinted water, Harry waited to take his last breath.

_Finally._

-

Harry became familiar with the burning in his throat before he came to his senses. He struggled to sit up, coughing and gasping in hopes that the cold air would calm the fire in his throat.

A hand came to steady him as Harry sat up, rubbing his back a little too roughly for Harry’s liking. “You're okay,” Zayn said.

Harry tried to speak, to say that he was not okay. To yell that he had nothing to live for. To demand why Zayn pulled him out of the river when he could have just left him in there. To scream about the horrors that Harry had witnessed which took shelter in the manor. He wanted to shout at Zayn for lying and betraying him, and demand the truth of the paintings he had seen.

“I buried her. She’s right here,” Zayn pointed at the ground where a small patch of mud peaked like a miniature hill. Harry’s eyes blurred with tears and wandered to the headstone next to Cersei’s grave. _Louis Tomlinson — Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death,_ it read. There was no year of death or birth. Harry choked on air.

“What’s that?” Harry pointed at the headstone as he struggled to keep the tears at bay. 

“Sorry about laying you on the ground. You were drenched and out cold,” Zayn chuckled awkwardly.

“Zayn,” Harry glared at him with the coldest stare he could muster. 

Zayn slumped his shoulder and sat back on his haunches. “I’m sorry. I should’ve known better, I’m sorry.”

“I have questions that only you can answer. I’ve seen things, felt things that are impossible to comprehend, but most importantly, I need to know. Did Constance — did that _thing_ kill Cersei?”

“I don't know.”

“Zayn —”

“Trust me Harry, I don't know.”

“You're the last person I would trust.” Harry looked down and fisted the mud. He watched it escape and fall down as his fist closed in further. The pain and grief of death was heavy in the air. Harry felt each prick of pain as it pierced his skin. The pain of all the dead buried in the ground beneath him. “She shouldn't have died! She shouldn't have,” Harry sobbed as he fell forward.

Zayn was quick to steady him but Harry jerked away from his touch. “No!”

“Harry, let me explain —”

“You’ve had plenty of time to explain. You could have explained that there was a creature — an inhuman creature — living under the very floors I walked every day. How could you put Victor, Bridget, all of us in such danger!?” Harry stumbled to stand. “You lied to me about Louis. What else have you lied to me about? Did Victor even need a nurse?”

Zayn stared at him with the face of someone whose biggest lie has just been caught out. “I’ll tell you everything, Harry, believe me. We need to go home first. Please.”

“Now you care about my safety?” Harry bit back. Zayn’s brows furrowed.

_

“Bridget and Victor are away,” Zayn announced as the pair walked inside the manor. All lights were off, save for the one illuminating the gallery. “They’re at the inn. Why don't you clean up, have some food and then —”

“No. None of that.” Harry walked straight into the gallery and stood in front of Louis’ portrait. “I want answers now,” he said when Zayn caught up with him. Harry had expected Louis to speak, to say something that would help him understand, but Louis didn't. 

“Fine,” Zayn sighed.

“What are you?” Harry asked, the same question he had asked Louis a few days ago. 

“I’m a human,” Zayn laughed incredulously.

“I saw your paintings,” Harry admitted guiltily. “The one with Louis.”

“You did.”

Zayn’s reply only antagonized Harry further but before he could yell, Zayn sighed again and said, “Ask Louis.”

“What —” It then dawned on Harry. “How long have you known?” Zayn flinched at Harry’s tone.

“Since the day you arrived.”

“Right. 

"I loved Louis in a way I shouldn't have," Zayn hung his head. "All these years, Louis has been paying for what I did. And so is Constance."

Jealousy bit at Harry’s heart with anger. Harry shook his head. “Your mother —” he started.

"Constance is not my mother, Harry. She's yours," Zayn interrupted.

Harry felt his breath shorten. Zayn's words washed over him like a tidal wave that sought to destruct everything in its way.

"I'm a witch, Harry, and so is she."

Harry cackled loudly with disbelief. 

Zayn shook his head and with a smirk formed on his face. He twisted his fingers in a delicate dance and muttered something intelligible until a ball of fire floated in his hands.

"Believe me now?" Harry stumbled back as Zayn smashed his palms together and watched the fire die out. Helen’s stories were just stories. They were never supposed to be real.

"Power is what makes me, Harry. Without my powers, I am nothing. Falling in love made me weak. Slowly, I was being stripped of my powers. It felt like being ripped away from one's soul. Can you imagine that, Harry?"

"I've been close," Harry replied. Harry had his demons and so had Helen. Still, watching her lose herself to her own demons had been a tragedy Harry would never recover from.

"I don't know who fathered you, Harry but I remember the day Constance birthed you. You didn't cry at all, only when she held you did you cry. She insisted that I take you away. So that you could grow up away from the shadow of your powers, so that your abilities wouldn't haunt you."

Harry scoffed at the ideas being spewed at him. How could hiding his true identity keep him safe? He had found out about his powers either way and they never left him — they clung on his back, their claws deep in his skin. 

"You don't understand, Harry, do you?" Zayn shook his head. "There's a reason why your powers destroy you more than they help you. There's a reason why Louis isn't here among us. There's a reason why I insisted you don't stay out till late."

"What is it?"

"Jinn."

“Jinn.” Harry deadpanned. 

“Yes.”

"Jinn? Those are —"

"Myths? Tales woven to scare children to sleep? No, Harry. They're as real as you and me. They're real because one of them now lives inside your mother."

"Constance is possessed by a jinn?" 

"As a last resort, yes." Zayn walked into the study and came out a few minutes later with a book in hand.

Harry wanted to go back in time when Helen’s stories had just that. When the dark of night hadn’t scared him, when his back wasn't scarred. They had been just two kids telling stories of magical times to pass their boredom. When night fell, they had giggled loudly as they held on to their sheets — their only protection from the shadows of night. 

"Do you see this?" Zayn asked when he came back with a worn out book and pointed at the symbol on it's thick cover. Harry gasped in realization and clutched his necklace when he noticed the spine of the book had the year _1886_ written on it. The symbol on the book cover was the same as the one Harry held in his fist. "Now look at the painting."

Harry's eyes searched the portrait, trying to see something he might have missed earlier. Harry sucked in a sharp breath when he saw that the symbol on Louis' ring matched the one on the book cover and the pendant of Harry's necklace.

"This can't be a coincidence," Harry shook his head and dropped his hand.

“Of course it isn't. That’s the symbol of our coven,” Zayn rolled his eyes. "Jinns are said to be made from smokeless fire, their powers and capabilities are nothing compared to ours,” Zayn continued. “We have magical powers, but jinns ,they _are_ magic. Do you understand that, Harry?”

Harry nodded, the information zipping to his brain.

“Jinns have a notorious habit of possessing humans and never leaving their hosts,” Zayn continued. “If the host is exorcised, the jinn might leave, but not before it has devoured every inch of the host's soul."

"So if we were to perform an exorcism on Constance, she could die?"

"Essentially."

Harry pushed his hair back, frustrated. "You said ‘as a last resort’. I don't understand where Louis comes into all of this."

"Each generation of witches produces a witch with abilities like yours. Some are born with powers that are limited only to touch, while some are able to expand them and exploit their powers further."

"You mean, Louis is a witch?"

"Just like you. Perhaps more powerful," Zayn smirked.

"I'm parched, tea?" Zayn asked Harry. 

Harry blinked at the sudden change in Zayn's tone. "How old are you?"

"Don't judge my age based on my tea making skills," Zayn laughed and made his way to the kitchen. 

Harry took this time to process what he had just heard. His hands made their way to his necklace, while his eyes focused on Louis' ring. Harry wondered if everyone with powers received an accessory of some sort. If so, Harry would love to have a ring like Louis'. 

Finally alone, Harry touched Louis' painting.

"Louis," Harry muttered. At the same time Louis' voice ran loudly with urgency, "Harry!" Behind you."

No sooner had Louis uttered those words than Harry felt a throbbing pain in the back of his head. Harry fell to the ground as darkness leaked through his eyes. He saw the silent weeping of Louis tear up the painting. A single bead of tear trickled down the canvas before Harry’s eyes closed.

-

White light blinded Harry when he regained consciousness. The sharp tug of pain pulled acutely inside of his head. Harry wanted to cower and lie down on the cold floor.

"You're up!" Zayn cheered loudly. "I made you tea." Zayn helped Harry sit up.

"Someone hit me—" Harry panicked, arm flailing around.

"Constance. She's over there on the chair," Zayn pointed at the woman in the corner. Her head was lolled to one side, hair bunched up and askew. Her eyes were red, her face held none of the smoothness that was depicted in her painting. “I had to tie her up,” Zayn commented offhandedly. Like all this was normal and nothing to panic over.

Harry’s eyes traced her face. It held no remorse, no love for him. "Mother," Harry whispered, a lump forming in his throat. Constance laughed back at Harry. "She hit me."

"I'm sorry, Harry, she's no longer your mother," Zayn said solemnly.

Another pain to bear, Harry thought. He took the cup and sipped it loudly. Since the card game, Harry hadn't eaten anything.

"Bridget and Victor?" Zayn asked. "I told you, I sent them away for a while. Had to make sure they were safe."

Harry snorted but nodded. "How did you…"

"I can read minds. My powers are nothing compared to yours, though."

"I'm sure reading minds is very interesting," Harry sipped his tea loudly.

“You’re very loud with your thoughts,” Zayn smirked. Harry felt a sudden relief, glad that Zayn wasn't around to hear his adventures in the shower.

“Do you hear him?” Harry asked Zayn, glancing at Louis.

“I did, but not anymore. I think he doesn't want me to hear him.” Zayn looked down.

Harry tried to keep the relief at bay but a small smile made its way to his lips regardless. 

"It's human nature to always want the best, isn't it?" Zayn asked. "You give a child a toy, it will ask for a bigger toy. We always want more and better. An insatiable hunger of greed."

Harry nodded along, not sure where Zayn was going with this.

"It’s the same for jinns," Zayn glanced at Constance. Her head was now lolled to the other other side, eyes blank as she stared ahead. "They want a powerful host for themselves. The more magic you have, the stronger you are as a host."

"I was strong. Stronger than Louis. I didn't want to lose my powers, but I did.

We were told not to stay out too late since childhood. Mothers grabbed their children and protected them with their love as the sun started to sink below the horizon.

I was careless and young and in love," Zayn shot Louis' painting a look. He smiled softly, a smile reserved for one's lover to see. Harry's eyes burned with jealousy.

"I was aware that a jinn harboured affections for me. It was why my powers were depleting, because my body was being taken over by the jinn. I couldn't bear to lose my powers, but I had to. I only wished to spend time with Louis before I could no longer love him."

Zayn stood and took Harry's cup from him and placed it on the table. "The jinn learned about my affections for Louis and possessed him." 

"Losing Louis was far worse than losing my powers. I studied every book I could find so that I could free Louis. I found a spell that would trap a jinn in an inanimate object and bind it to the object. I performed the spell with ease, except — before I could complete it, the jinn left Louis' body and latched onto Constance, leaving Louis trapped in the painting."

Harry shuddered, he didn't know if it was the cold or the chilling tale of tragedy.

"How can we save Louis? There has to be a way!" Harry stood up.

"Until recently, I didn't think I could. I'd given up hope."

Harry saw another tear trickle down Louis' painting. His heart clenched and hand trembled. He wanted to reach out and kiss it away until all Louis was smile.

“But you can, Harry!” Zayn exclaimed. “Your powers allow you to have a connection with Louis that I never had. 

Harry nodded dumbly. “But? There's always a but, isn't there?”

“Someone has to take Louis’ place. Someone capable enough to hold Constance, the jinn that possesses her, with them.”

“What —”

“This isn't about a divine sacrifice to immortalize me, Harry. I’m immortal either way. ”

Harry shook his head.

“I wish I had more time. I wish I had told you sooner, trusted you sooner,” Zayn wiped at his eyes. “No matter, though. Louis will tell you.” 

“Here,” Zayn handed Harry a dagger. The hilt of the dagger was adorned with rubies, and the same symbol from the necklace was carved into it.

“I need you to carve a circle around the ring,” Zayn pointed at Louis’ portrait, “and cut it.”

“Cut it?” Harry asked incredulously. None of this was making any sense. “Zayn, how will that save Louis—”

“We don't have time!” No sooner did Zayn bellow the words than Constance leaped from her chair. Before she could pounce on Harry, Zayn caught hold of her. 

Constance stared back at Harry, the blank expression on her face not wavering, yet her eyes raged with a kind of fire that could only be evil. Constance launched at him, grabbing his necklace. Harry's hand flew to his necklace in an instant, his bare hands trying to loosen the grip Constance had on him. He should've thought, really. His powers were mostly in his control, but in this/his state of panic, they were the spark that waited for a breeze to cause a wildfire.

Harry was thrust into the memories of Constance with such sheer force that it had him gasping for air. His knees buckled as he envisioned a young Constance tucking a small boy in bed, kissing him goodnight. Another memory flashed, this time showing a wee little babe in a basket with a necklace clutched in its tiny hands. _Harry’s necklace._

The vision ended all too soon when Harry was pulled backwards. He stumbled at the loss of contact. Panting, Harry held onto his necklace tighter than ever. His vision swirled with the images of Constance being pulled away by Zayn.

“Now!” Zayn hissed. Harry saw Constance dig her nails into Zayn’s flesh in an attempt to free herself.

Blood trickled down the painting as Harry’s knife made contact with the canvas. Harry's hands faltered at the sight, he looked helplessly at Zayn who was in his own struggle.

“Don't stop!” Zayn urged as he kept a tight hold on Constance.

Harry hurried, pushing the knife through the canvas, circling the ring until the paper gave in and broke. As the ring manifested from the paper, so did Louis. 

Harry gasped at the sight, watching the impossibility of the situation. Louis fell to his knees, blood dripping from his hand. Constance’s cries fell silent and Harry rushed forward to hold him. “Louis,” Harry gasped as he removed his scarf and tied it to Louis’ hand.

Harry heard Zayn whisper Louis’ name, at which Louis looked to Zayn, unaware of Harry’s gaze on him.

In that instant, Constance growled in anger and lunged towards Harry, grabbing his leg with one hand, the other still in Zayn’s hold.

“The ring, Harry!” Zayne yelled as he tried to hold off Constance, her nails digging roughly into Zayn’s skin until blood spilled. Harry crawled across the floor to the ring and threw it in Zayn’s direction.

Coated in blood, the ring slipped from Zayn’s hand and fell to the floor. Before Constance could get ahold of it, Zayn picked it up and wasted no time putting it on. He muttered something that caused Constance to screech as she tried to pry her hand away from Zayn’s grip.

Zayn smiled, Harry didn't know if the smile was for him or Louis. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

In the flash of a second, Zayn was gone. Perplexed, Harry looked around until his eyes fell on the portrait on the wall. The canvas that had previously hosted Louis was now occupied by Zayn. The ring that had once gleamed on Louis’ finger — now smeared with blood — rested on Zayn’s. 

Harry shuddered out a breath at what he saw and tried to make sense of what just happened. He searched for Louis, scared he was gone too; only to find him lying on the floor next to the lifeless body of Constance.


	2. Spring (Epilogue)

Life is unpredictable, as they say. Change, inevitable. All his life, Harry had had to adapt to the changes around him. Be it moving from one town to another in search of a family that would never truly be his, or having to grasp an understanding of his powers and the extent of them. Harry experienced loss like so many others. He never knew of his family but he had Helen, only to lose her later. He found comfort in an animal but, she too, was ripped away from him. He had come so close to losing Louis — the fear and of losing him overwhelmed Harry to the core. Still, as the day came to rest, Louis lay close to him every night with the promise of never leaving Harry.

Months after Constance’s death, for the first time since arriving at Thorne Hills, Harry walked through the gates of the Thorne Hills manor without the evil tug of malice around him. A smile etched across his face as the sun set behind the manor and spread out its rays across the sky. Spring was here, and so was the promise of love and safety.

Zayn’s car was still parked upfront, Harry refused to give it away. Bridget and Victor had arrived a week after Constance’s funeral. They had been as shocked as the townfolks upon seeing Louis and Zayn’s portrait but it was nothing that couldn't be won over with Louis’ smile. 

Constance’s funeral was a small affair — just him and Louis to bury the mother he would never come to know. They buried her next to Cersei, in the grave that once held Louis’ headstone. She was still family.

Harry had spent the next few months understanding the extent of his powers and getting educated on his family’s history. He had gotten a job at the hospital, even though the hospital hardly received any patients. It was more so that he could take things off his mind. Though once, they had received a woman who was in her labour — it was a critical case. In spite of a premature birth, the baby had been born healthy. The smile on the mother’s face when she had held her child had Harry tearing up. Moments like this, were what reminded Harry of the love he never had the chance to get.

Yet, Harry’s heart was no longer heavy with grief — love had taken up space in it, spreading like a ray of sunshine after a cloudy, thunderous day. He still missed Cersei and longed to feel the warmth in his lap he felt every time she would plop in it. It was wishful thinking, Harry realised. Still, it didn't stop him from visiting her grave. Every week, Harry would go to the cemetery at Thorne Hills. On his way back from work, he’d collect the flowers that Mrs. Trelawny — the old lady from he florist shop — would have ready for him and placed them on Cersie and Constance’s grave. He’d sit down next to the graves, always careful to not touch the mud or the headstone with his bare hands. He’d talk to the empty air wishing it was them listening to him as the Tainted River flew gently a few yards away. 

Once the initial shock wore off, the town had merrily accepted Louis. They hadn't been afraid of him, for they knew magic resided deep within the soils of Thorne Hills. It was the shock of finally seeing Louis free and apprehension of him disappearing again. Louis, while he helped Harry become acquainted with his past, had his own demons to tackle. He had gone from being trapped inside a painting to losing his love, to finding Harry’s friendship.

Friendship was an ugly word, Harry thought. It built him up before he broke down every night, as Louis cuddled closer to Harry each night before he fell asleep. Harry would wait for Louis. He had waited for so long for a love that would fill his senses and overwhelm him, he would wait a few years more. Wait for Louis to be ready.

When Harry jogged up to the door of Thorne Hills manor, the sun was just below the horizon. He eye the hands of the clock in the tower as they worked for the first time in ages. The outside of the manor had been repainted, the fountain now flourished with flowing water. Orange sky glowed above the manor and that’s when Harry realised — the manor was no longer a slave to the bitterness of winter. 

Harry walked inside the manor and through the foyer and into the gallery, the same path he had walked a year ago, and stood in front of Louis. Harry would always be at his mercy. The echo of Louis’ laughter filled Harry’s days and nights. He woke up to the sight of the sun kissing Louis’ tan skin, his blue eyes opening up a whole new world for Harry to discover and get lost in.

He slept with Louis held close to him. Louis' breath, a barely-there kiss on Harry's neck. Harry wanted Louis to be his but Louis wasn't. A part of him would always be with Zayn, the one who first had had him and then had lost him. Harry only hoped he would never have to lose Louis. 

Jealousy stung at Harry’s heart at the sight of Louis cleaning Zayn’s portrait. He cleared his throat loudly, hoping the sting of jealousy would fade away.

“Harry!” Louis dropped the cloth he had been using to clean the frame and sprinted to Harry. He engulfed Harry in a hug and the bitter sting of jealousy faded. Everything seemed easy with Louis. Harry hugged Louis closer, ready to drink him in.

“I have something for you,” Louis whispered in Harry’s ear and pulled back.

“What?” Harry laughed.

“Come on!” Louis dragged Harry upstairs to his room — their room.

Bags containing new purchases were scattered near the closet. Harry’s table, which was always empty, save for his timepiece, was now stacked with books and flowers in a small vase. A half-drunk teacup was also there. Harry smiled at himself.

“Sit down,” Louis pushed Harry on the bed. Harry flushed at that. Many nights and days he had dreamt of Louis pushing him on their bed, never had he thought it would be happening so soon.

And then Louis was gone. Harry slouched, embarrassed. “Close your eyes,” Louis announced from outside the room a few seconds later. Harry did, no questions asked.

“Open your eyes,” Louis whispered.

Emotions zipped through Harry at the speed of lightning. Love, grief, happiness — Harry felt overwhelmed. “Would you like to hold her?” Louis offered.

Harry took the cat who blinked widely at him, she was wearing the hat Bridget had made for Cersei. A wet laugh escaped Harry’s lips when she meowed softly at him.

“How?” Harry said, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“She found us,” Louis smiled fondly. “The little thing sneaked its way inside and was sniffing around the kitchen.”

“Have you decided on a name yet?” Louis asked as he sat next to Harry.

Harry kissed Louis on the forehead, a silent thank you. “Isis,” he said, eyes twinkling with unshed tears.

“That’s perfect, Harry” Louis whispered before leaning forward to kiss Harry.

Harry made a soft noise and shifted to hold Louis properly. Isis hopped off Harry’s lap, but the place was soon claimed by Louis.

Harry gasped into the kiss, the sound swallowed by Louis. Louis’ hands found their way into Harry’s hair, while Harry held Louis closer with a hand on his waist. The other cupped Louis’ jaw.

Harry gripped Louis tighter as he ground down. “Louis,” he panted.

Louis pulled away to nibble at Harry’s jaw. He placed soft, wet kisses along the jaw. He pulled Harry’s hair, causing him to moan loudly and expose his neck. Louis bent down and sucked at the pale skin until blood rushed to the surface.

“Yeah?” Louis whispered against Harry’s collarbones.

“Louis,” Harry moaned louder at a particularly harsh bite. Louis pulled back and sat patiently in Harry’s lap, his weight pressing down on Harry’s bulge. His eyes were glassed over, the striking blue contrasting with the dark eyes he'd once had in the painting. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. He had to be sure, to know Louis wasn't doing this because he thought he owed Harry in some way.

Louis pulled away from Harry’s grip. “What do you mean? Don't you want this? Don't you want me?”

Louis’ mouth was bitten red and kiss-swollen. Harry wanted nothing more than to have Louis in his lap again and kiss him until they were both gasping for air.

“I do!” Harry stood. “Ever since I saw you.” Harry cupped Louis’ face and kissed his forehead. “Always want you,” Harry whispered and placed soft kisses over Louis’ eyes. “Only you,” he said, emphasizing his words with a kiss on Louis’ lips. “I have loved you for so long,” Harry said as he pulled away. “Let me show you. Will you?” 

Louis nodded jerkily and pushed Harry on the bed, wasting no time to crawl over him. Louis straddled Harry, whose hands came to steady Louis. They kissed like they were starved for air, gasping in each other’s mouths. They breathed each other in, sucking and biting at the other’s skin.

“Only you,” Harry whispered again as he came up over Louis.

Louis, under him with wide blown eyes and lips the colour of cherry wine, intoxicated Harry. He pulled at the hem of Louis’ shirt and looked at Louis with desperation. Louis watched Harry with a shy smile and eyes that reminded Harry of the deepest of oceans. Harry would like to drown in those oceans only to feel alive. When Louis nodded, Harry took his time undressing Louis.

With each article of clothing coming off, new skin was exposed. Harry marked up the golden skin with the red of his love, hoping the touch of his lips would ease away any and all pain Louis had to endure.

“Harry,” Louis called. Harry looked up from where he was kissing Louis’ waist. “Please,” Louis begged as tears pooled in his eyes.

Harry reached up to kiss Louis, then made quick work of undressing himself. “Come here,” Louis whispered, holding out his arms. Harry had never fallen so quickly.

Louis tugged at the gloves Harry still wore. “Off.”

Harry removed his gloves and touched Louis, skin on skin. “You're most beautiful, Harry,” Louis said as he entwined their hands. Harry’s breath stuttered at the darkened skin on Louis’ finger left behind by the ring. A tear trickled down Harry’s face and fell onto Louis’ chest. Their touch allowed Harry to see, to feel the love Louis felt for him. Harry had never wanted anything more.

He surged forward to kiss Louis, to bite at his soft lips that had rewritten Harry’s destiny. “I love you,” Harry gasped into the kiss.

Louis arched into the kiss. “I want you inside. Please,” he begged.

“I’d love to,” Harry said, making Louis giggle. “But first, let me love you.”

Louis shuddered out a breath as Harry kissed at his neck, marking him up until Louis’ nails dug in his shoulders.

Harry kissed his way down to Louis’ chest, making sure to leave the imprint of his lips on Louis’ tan skin. Louis’ body shook under Harry’s attention, his cock already leaking precum.

Harry ran his nose along Louis’ hip, biting the thick flesh. “Harry,” Louis moaned. 

Harry wasted no more time and took Louis in his mouth, sucking him efficiently. Harry pressed his tongue on the underside of Louis’ cock and bobbed his head until Louis fisted the sheets.

“Please, Harry,” Louis gasped as Harry kissed Louis’ balls and took one in his mouth.

Harry got off the bed and knelt in front of it. He grabbed Louis’ thighs and pulled him close. “I’m right here, darling,” Harry murmured into the soft skin of Louis’ inner thighs as he placed a pillow under Louis’ back.

Harry pulled Louis’ cheeks apart. He kissed Louis’ hole, not yet breaching. Louis moaned brokenly, the sound going straight to Harry’s cock. Harry rutted against the bed as he kissed Louis again, nibbling gently at the puckered skin. Louis’ fingers found their way to Harry’s hair as Harry licked a long stripe. Louis pulled Harry’s hair, making Harry moan against Louis’ skin.

“You're so beautiful,” Harry whispered before breaching Louis with his tongue. Louis let out a guttural moan as he arched off the bed and came all over himself.

Louis pulled Harry up, kissing his mouth greedily. “I love you,” he sighed as he rested his head against Harry’s chest. “So much.”

Harry dragged his fingers across Louis’ belly, smearing the cum. He brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean. “Sweet,” Harry murmured with a smile playing on his lips. Louis flushed but dived in for another kiss, sealing this newfound happiness with the kiss of their love.

_“And what is happy? It is a going always on.” —_ **_Sylvia Plath_ **

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog the fic post [here](https://mugglemirror.tumblr.com/post/620179271131004928/the-blood-of-love-harry-is-a-nurse-and-louis-is) :)
> 
> You can also subscribe [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMirror) to be notified of my future fics :)


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